Hogan vs Quark
by 80sarcades
Summary: Ingredients: Preheat oven to 1947. Add one crashed spaceship and three Ferengi to the Roswell Flying Saucer mix. Stir in one General Hogan and Captain Kinchloe in a counterclockwise fashion. Finish with the-power-the-Ferengi-knows-not and a well-known phrase before heating up. Serves everyone. Hogan's Heroes / Star Trek: DS9 crossover.
1. You had to interrupt my beer for this?

**_Hogan vs. Quark  
by 80sarcades_**

* * *

 _Welcome to the 1947 fanfiction title bout between two heavyweight contenders from my favorite series: Hogan's Heroes and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine! This fight will be a no-holds barred mental confrontation between two of the greatest (in fictional television, anyway) con men of the 20th century! (Although, it should be admitted, the Ferengi in question is merely visting the 20th century from the future but...it still counts!)_

 _This story is based on the DS9 episode 'Little Green Men' where Quark, his brother Rom, and nephew Nog were accidentally transported back in time before their ship crashed landed in Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. In the episode the trio tried to con the humans before they finally escaped back to the future. It's a good episode but I've always wondered what would happen if you added a more competent officer (and con artist) to the mix._

 _Now it's time to introduce you to your fighters for tonight!_

 _And in this corner! We have that preeminent American Colonel (now Major General), all-around good guy, hero of Stalag 13 and fifteenth place winner in the ff dot net 'Sexiest Hunka-Hunka Buns' award, TV category! He has a preference for blondes, certain female fan fiction authors and can name all 48 state capitals within 48 seconds_ _! Introducing...Robert! E! Hogan!_

 _And in this corner...and the less said, the better...we have that conniving misogynistic Ferengi bartender posing-as-something-he's-not...Quark!_

 _May the best human win!_

 _ **WARNING**_

 _For my female readers (and a thank you to **Snooky-9093** for suggesting this!), this Ferengi-involved man-centered tale set in the late 1940's involves misogyny of various levels including, but not limited to: spoken misogyny, mental misogyny, implied misogyny, cultural misogyny, misogyny-by-another-word misogyny, she's-so-fine misogyny, undefinable misogyny, sitcom misogyny, highly fictional misogyny, sports misogyny, are-you-still-reading-this? misogyny and just general Southern good 'ol boy all-around backslapping misogyny not listed elsewhere. Apart from that it's a really great story!_

 _The author also heartily disclaims any involvement or responsibility for female-based health and legal issues related to this story such as: skyrocketing blood pressure, constant irritation, sudden bouts of intense rage and general urge to kill and/or maim anyone with XY chromosomes._

 _Winner of THE Shirley Imaginary "Majorly Mantastic Misleading Misogyny Missive' award of 2024! I'm so proud:-)_

 _It should also be noted that anyone that really believes in misogyny (I'm a guy, in case you're wondering, and I pride myself of being a gentleman...or a civilized bum; take your pick) has a serious set of screws loose in their head..._

 _Enjoy the story!_

* * *

 _Once upon a time, there was a Ferengi._

 _This particular Ferengi wasn't an important member of his race...or even a rich one. Like many of his male brethren he believed in the acquisition of profit and all the gold-pressed latinum that came from it. Latinum was power. Latinum was virility. Latinum was_ sexy _._

 _And this Ferengi, like so many others before him, wanted it all._

 _Unfortunately, as with plans best laid, the dreams of great wealth had yet eluded his greedy grasp. Despite the alien's best efforts - both legal and illicit - he was nothing more than a small time bar owner on an obscure Cardassian space station in the Alpha Quadrant._

 _It was only by sheer chance that a wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant was discovered next to Deep Space Nine. Overnight, this stable path to a section of the galaxy many thousands of light years away catapulted the station from an insignificant backwater into a strategic location for the major powers. The Bajoran people, devoutly religious, referred to the passageway as the Celestial Temple. The Federation, along with everyone else, referred to it as the wormhole._

 _For the Ferengi, it was the renewed path to his dreams of gold._

 _He was even more convinced that his luck had turned when he acquired his own ship. Granted, it was a repayment of a loan he had given his cousin but even so...it was his own personal shuttle to do with as he wished. And use it he did. The profits he would generate after his side trip to Earth would mark his climb to ultimate success...and beyond._

 _Yes, the future looked bright for this scavenger of latinum. Even so, he was about to be reminded that the universe has a perverse sense of humor when it comes to those whose greed outweighs common sense. Perhaps, if he were fortunate to live long enough, the Ferengi would remember that tried and true axiom:_

 _There's always a better con artist than you out there. Tempt fate, and you might just cross paths in the unlikeliest of ways..._

* * *

 ** _July 7, 1947_**

 ** _Somewhere near Washington, D.C._**

Major General Robert Hogan, his tired body slumped in a padded chair, had barely raised the icy cold bottle of beer to his dry lips when the phone rang.

For a brief moment - _who am I kidding?_ \- he considered ignoring one of the banes of his military existence and indulging in alcoholic bliss. With a tired groan he set the wet bottle on the nearby table and slowly stretched his arms before he answered the cursed device. Several minutes later, his curiosity piqued, he laid the handset down in its bakelite cradle.

 _A courier?_ Hogan sighed at the thought of more work. _Ah, the life of a general officer: never a dull moment._ A slight frown crossed his lips. _Unless it comes to budgets_ , he mentally added.

 _Or anything involving paper._

Twenty minutes later a nattily dressed Major knocked on the front door. The older officer returned the offered salute with an airy wave of his hand and studied the front of the man's tunic for a brief moment before he quickly ushered his visitor inside.

 _He doesn't look crazy enough to jump out of airplanes_ , he thought, impressed by the qualification badge that gleamed on the stranger's chest. A briefcase, chained to his left wrist, only deepened the mystery behind the phone call.

"Sir," the young man began. "I'm Major Davis. General O'Neill directed me to deliver this to you." He quickly, if not efficiently, took a small silver key from his pocket before he unlocked the brass clasp and withdrew several thick file folders.

 _Those better not be budget estimates..._

"Give me a minute," Hogan said, taking the bundle before he flipped the lid of the first file. His eyes reflexively scanned the documents moments before they did a double take and backed up. Finally, after interminable minutes, he flicked his stunned gaze to the Major.

"An ATC aircraft is standing by at Andrews Field, General," the man said, responding to the unspoken prompt. "The Chief of Staff said you were to leave immediately."

The senior officer, barely hearing the words, absently nodded as he returned his attention to the file. Try as he might, Hogan found it hard to credit that the black-and-white photo of the three bulbous-headed alien beings - much less the oddly shaped ship they arrived in - were actually real.

 _And if it had been anyone else..._

"Sir, I was instructed to wait for a message if you have one," the young officer prompted, breaking Hogan's train of thought. He quickly shoved the paper mass into his own briefcase before he looked up.

"Let the General know that I'm on my way," he finally ordered. "I'll call him from Andrews."

"Yes, sir." Major Davis acknowledged. "Will there be anything else?"

Hogan shook his head. "Thank you, Major," he said politely. Again, he exchanged salutes as another thought popped to mind.

 _I'll call Kinch myself. Damn!_ he groused. _I tell him to go enjoy himself and this happens!_ He glanced at the case and the papers it held with a sense of dread.

 _But I need him._

"Major Davis," the General called out. Davis, his hand on the doorknob, smartly turned around to face the senior officer.

"Let me see your briefcase."

The Army officer immediately walked to the table and set his case down. The hollow _thunk_ from the impact had barely reverberated around the living room before his practiced fingers released the top flap. General Hogan then reached down into the paper bag sitting at the base of the table and retrieved a full beer bottle which he then carefully, if not reverentially, laid in the bottom of the Major's satchel. The air of practiced calm on his handsome face contrasted sharply with the jolt of shock that flashed across the other man's now-worried features.

"Make sure the Chief of Staff gets that," he solemnly ordered, resisting the urge to grin. "I think he'll need it."

"Yes...sir," the Major replied uncertainly as he tried - and pathetically failed - to mask his surprise.

 _Probably wondering where he'll be posted to in Alaska_ , the General thought, amused. _Either that, or: get me away from this loonball!_ The speed at which the man took off only confirmed his latter hypothesis. The good humor faded as the strange images of otherworldly beings popped into his mind's eye.

 _And away we go...  
_

* * *

 _Fourteen hours, one malfunctioning aircraft, and a cranky General officer later..._

General Hogan, his face lined by exhaustion, looked down at the desolate landscape and groaned.

 _Aliens,_ he thought for the umpteenth time. _There are aliens down there. Actual aliens, not make-believe ones out of some Flash Gordon serial._ He sighed and tiredly repeated the question that popped into his mind yet again:

 _How the hell did I get stuck with this?_

The answer, as always, was obvious: _you're good at thinking outside the box._ It didn't make him feel any better.

 _So we have aliens on Earth_ , he thought sourly. _Why are they here?_

 _Bigger question: why the hell did these whatever-the-hells-they-are land - crash land, actually - in the middle of nowhere? You'd think they'd choose Washington or New York. If I had been really fortunate they would have landed on Miami Beach!_ A thin grin split his lips slightly at the delightful thought. _The funny part is that if they had landed and said 'take me to your leader' everyone would have thought it was another Orson Welles joke and panicked._

 _Meanwhile, the head of the 8th thinks we're about to be invaded. Are we? I've known Clay for 20 years. Only thing that ever excited the guy was work! Which probably explains why he never got married._ Hogan frowned.

 _Hell, I never got hitched! So what does that make me?_

The General shrugged the errant train of thought away before flicking his gaze outside the aircraft. The ground, showing more detail now, came sharply into barren focus. Obviously the plane was on descent for landing. He grimaced involuntarily.

 _This place makes Stalag 13 look like a resort!_

"We should be on the ground in less than ten minutes," a familiar voice announced. Hogan looked up in time to see Captain James Kinchloe, his aide-de-camp and friend, gracefully land in one of the canvas and aluminum frame seats. The senior officer merely nodded.

"You know, they usually say 'penny for your thoughts,'" the colored man rumbled several moments later. "I imagine for generals it's a lot more expensive."

A dry hint of laughter escaped Robert's parched throat. "Just thinking," he casually replied, meeting the other man's gaze. Kinch merely snorted in reply. His dark mustache twitched slightly as he looked through the clear glass and to the world below.

"If this is someone's idea of a bad joke then they've won the sixty-four dollar prize," he groused a minute later. "I've heard the stories about people getting lost out here, but aliens?" The aide shook his head. "You'd think they'd have better road maps. Or at least know where the White House is." He quirked an eyebrow. "You don't think the Kommandant was driving them, do you?"

This time, Hogan's face broke into a wry grin. "That would explain a lot of things," he chuckled before he adjusted himself in the stiff seat once more. "Don't think we'll be that lucky, though."

"Probably not." The junior officer's face remained thoughtful. "One thing's for sure," he commented. "They didn't come for the scenery. I can only imagine why they're here." He met Hogan's eyes in shared thought.

"Yeah," the General admitted. The pictures of the aliens were enough to make him wonder. "I have a bad feeling about this," he admitted candidly to his longtime friend. "Just something…" He broke off, unable to express the thought. After a moment he continued. "Makes me wonder what's up there." The general flicked his eyes to the aluminum ceiling and the unseen heavens above. "Obviously where there's three…"

"...there's more," Kinch finished.

Just then the sound of a soft _thump_ echoed through the small cabin as the aircraft's wheels merged with the oncoming concrete runway. Hogan glanced outside. The assorted collection of buildings and hangars that filled his gaze looked just as dull and uninteresting as the landscape that surrounded the structures.

 _Who the hell named this place Roswell, anyway?_

* * *

Brigadier General Clayton Hammond, head of the 8th Air Force, and several other officers met the pair on the tarmac. Major Carlton Harris, the Roswell Army Airfield's second in command, was briefly introduced before being dismissed to return to his duties.

"The Major is filling in for Colonel Smalls. His mother passed on a few days ago," Hammond explained to Hogan on the short car ride to Hangar 18. "Harris was the one that thought up the whole weather balloon story. Good man." The two-star General merely nodded noncommittally in reply before they arrived at the guarded hangar. The sight of the alien ship inside the cavernous space was enough to stun the man who thought he had seen it all.

"Men from Mars," Hogan breathed, looking at the otherworldly sight. "You know," he sighed, "I was hoping all of this was a prank." He shook his head. "It's easier to believe the Russians were up to something rather than believe…" The General waved his hand at the craft. "…this."

General Hammond sighed before his brown eyes met Hogan's. "I wish I could say it was the Commies, Rob," he began before he turned his eyes back to the interstellar craft. "We've tried to keep the information compartmentalized as best as we could. Fortunately the cover story seems to be holding for the moment." He paused, then continued. "As you know, we have three aliens," he said, his voice quiet. "All alive; all talking. Unfortunately."

"Why's that?" the other man asked, his curiosity piqued.

Clayton made a face that could have been comical under other circumstances. "They have some kind of translator in their ears that converts their language into ours and vice versa," he explained. "They weren't working at first. One we got past that barrier it was like listening to my daughters - they won't shut up."

The former POW raised an eyebrow. "At least they're talking," he observed. "So what are they saying?"

"It's a wash," the other man said bluntly. "One minute they're demanding to see our leader. The next minute they're arguing among themselves. It's a lot like listening to the Three Stooges without the eye pokes."

"That's...strange," Hogan pondered. "You'd think anyone who was able to travel to another world would be professional. Or at least be on the same script."

His peer agreed. "On the other hand, I'm beginning to wonder if they're a threat at all," Hammond continued. "If they're an invasion force they're the strangest damned one I've ever seen. Even the Eyties were more organized." The officer shook his head. "Believe it or not but they're related to each other. The oldest one - his name is Quark - reminds me of my cousin, Elliott. He's a used car salesman in Peoria. A really bad used car salesman. Anyway, Quark claims to be the chief financial officer for something called the Ferengi Alliance. They supposedly want to make a deal with us."

"A deal?" General Hogan cocked his head, puzzled. "So what are they offering?"

"Energy weapons, something called warp drives..." Hammond shrugged his shoulders, clearly unsure what to believe. "All sorts of space stuff. Said we could be the most powerful people on this planet if we wanted."

In response, Robert arched his right eyebrow. _So much for the thought that we were dealing with three obviously lost aliens. This is bizarre._ "And he was serious?"

"I think so." The other man paused. "The guy…or whatever you want to call him…reminds me of one of those Old West traders. You know, the ones that sold alcohol and called it medicine?" He met Hogan's eyes. "He's got better goods than they did, though."

The senior General nodded before switching gears. "What about the others?"

"The youngest, Nog - like egg nog - seems to be a teenager. Just as greedy and even more annoying than the adults." Hammond tilted his head slightly as in thought. "I'd almost swear he was putting the moves on the nurse we have in there."

Hogan stared at him incredulously. "You're kidding," he blurted.

The general held up his right hand. "Scout's honor," he said. "Apparently she gives the best _oo-mox_...whatever the hell that is." He chuckled slightly before his face soured. "I don't think they treat their women all that well, either," Clayton mentioned, a trace of disgust in his voice. "Apparently they have some law on their home planet that requires females to run around naked."

"Naked?..." Robert repeated, both eyebrows raised this time, before he turned his eyes to the craft before them. At that moment he wished he had brought some aspirin.

 _Or better yet, a shot of whiskey!_

"That's a new one on me," he finally mentioned, unsure of what else to say. "How the hell did you find that out?"

"The other adult - his name is Rom, by the way - told one of the scientists. He just said it matter of factly too. Like it was a normal thing." The head of the 8th shook his head in disbelief. "Granted, I don't mind women _al_ _naturel_ ," he said. "Makes it damned hard to take them to dinner that way though."

General Hogan snorted but otherwise kept silent.

"Rom, to me at least, is sort of interesting. Real quiet and not as aggressive as the other two but seems to be the smarter one of the bunch. Dr. Sanders, one of the civilian specialists, initially thought he was the woman of the group until we found out that little tidbit of information."

"And their ship?" Most of the colored craft, to the aviator's experienced eye, seemed to be mostly intact. Only the lower part of the ship showed any kind of impact damage at all and even that was relatively minor.

 _By comparison, the engines on a B-17 would have to be repaired if not replaced from the sudden stop of the propellers when they hit the ground. Not to mention the fuselage damage._

"Believe it or not but the damn thing took a heck of a hit when it crashed," Clayton summarized. "Fortunately for us the Army had several companies in the area taking part in maneuvers. They all said the ship went in pretty hard. Some of the witnesses even reported seeing a glowing circle around the craft when it slammed into the ground. One of the eggheads looking at the ship posited that what they saw might have been an electronic shield of some sort. Like armor, but invisible."

"That would make sense," Robert agreed, looking at the relatively undamaged ship again. "I won't pretend to understand it, but it makes sense."

"It's a lot better than a lot of the theories they're throwing around," Clayton agreed. "Honestly, I'm just surprised that the bells and whistles inside the damned thing are running. We might even be able to repair it and get it flying if we knew what the hell we were doing. It sure isn't like winding up the rubber bands on a '17."

Hogan digested the information for a long moment. "What's your take on the aliens?"

A pensive look told the senior officer all he needed to know. "Personally? I don't trust them," he candidly admitted "However, part of me says the negotiator is on the level. He's sure as hell arrogant enough." The 8th Air commander glanced at the craft. "You'd think they'd show up in a bigger ship just to impress the locals. Then again, maybe this is standard operating procedure for them. Who knows?" Clayton shrugged his shoulders. "At least they're willing to deal with us instead of the Russians. That's something." At that moment his voice brightened. "Fortunately, there's a silver lining to all this," he finished.

"And that is...?"

"I'm just glad you're here to deal with them," Clayton deadpanned.

General Hogan shot a dirty look at the other man's cheerful grin before the two men walked outside to the waiting staff car.

* * *

Surprisingly, the nondescript administration building that housed their Ferengi visitors looked little different from some of the other wooden structures on the airfield. Only the heavy guard complement belied the real difference. Even so, the sight gave Hogan pause as he stepped from the car.

 _Replace the uniforms with blue ones and change the lettering on the signs..._

He let out a silent tremorous sigh.

 _I left Stalag 13. I guess it will never leave me._

A fresh desert wind lashed against his cheeks as he stared at the front doors and the supposed horror that resided within.

 _Showtime_.

* * *

 _Next: Toto, he ain't!_

 _A/N: One of the two things that bothered me about this episode was the presence of a lieutenant (three-star) general and some way junior captains. (They did have one major at the beginning but he soon disappeared). Seriously? You're not going to have the base commander or some of the other senior officers around trying to horn in on the action?_

 _'Eyties' was a derogatory slur for Italians in general._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	2. Toto, he ain't!

_**Hogan vs. Quark**_  
 _ **by 80sarcades**_

* * *

 _Welcome back! Enter...the Ferengi! And now, the negotiations begin..._

 _In case you've never seen him, Quark is portrayed as your typical Ferengi: profit driven, sexist and greedy...and not necessarily in that order! Yet there have been a few times where he does have a heart. Not this Quark, however!_

* * *

Back in a simpler age, Marya - a never to be forgotten reminder of Stalag 13 - had given then-Colonel Hogan a bottle of premium Russian vodka _'to remember her by'_. The container, long forgotten, occupied a dark corner of the liquor cabinet in the General's Pentagon office.

At the moment, Robert was pretty much convinced that he could chug the whole bottle without stopping.

If anything, Clayton's judgement of the trio was accurate. He agreed that the shortest the three was a kid...or whatever they called their version. The second one with the oddly shaped tooth was literally scared of his own shadow.

The third, however...

The human looked into the calculating eyes of the being before him. "I'm General Robert Hogan," he said flatly, giving the visitor a piercingly inquisitive stare. "Who are you?" The strangely dressed intruder strutted forward, clearly unafraid of the American despite the unfamiliar surroundings and heavily armed guards.

 _That's a bad sign._

"My name is Quark," the alien arrogantly began, "and I'm the chief financial officer for the Ferengi Alliance." He nodded his orange head toward one of the other men in the room. "As I explained to your General Hammond I'm here to open trading negotiations with you hu-mons."

The former POW kept his face impassive as he studied the odd alien for a moment.

"So what do you have to offer?" the senior General asked, his face impassive.

"Oh, all sorts of interesting technology," Quark said politely. A small part of the General's mind couldn't help but be _impressed_ by how comfortable the visitor was in the alien atmosphere.

 _That's experience,_ another sliver of brain cells warned him. _Be careful._

"Phasers, space ships...pretty much anything you can dream of," Quark cocked his head slightly as he took his own measure of the primitive hu-mon. _Interesting,_ he judged. _This one seems to be a bit smarter than the others._ For now, he would navigate the rocky river of profit carefully...if only because primitive humans were also violent.

 _And violence is bad for business._

"If you want to make food out of thin air or have better weapons than your enemies then I'm the Ferengi to deal with. " he finished, his jagged grin looking downright evil to Hogan's eyes. "I'm assuming you Australians..."

"Americans!" The kid - _that's definitely a teenager if I've ever saw one!_ \- hissed. For a brief indefinable moment Hogan felt sorry for the younger being as he shivered underneath Quark's stern gaze.

"Nephews," he muttered sourly, rolling his eyes before he returned to the business at hand. "As I was saying," he nasally, if not smoothly, continued, "you Americans want to be the dominant force on this planet? You don't want those Russians to get the upper hand, do you?"

"Uncle!" the younger one interjected, this time more forcefully. "You can't alter the f-"

"Of course I can!" the older alien boomed, causing the younger being to wilt in sudden fear. Oddly, the huffy gesture reminded Hogan of Major Hochstetter...which was also another reason to start drinking. "Obviously you've forgotten what the word 'opportunity' means," he pointedly, if not firmly, lectured his relative. "You might do well to remember what every true Ferengi knows."

A chastened Nog, his eyes downcast, sunk back in his seat as General Hogan pondered the strange exchange. For the moment he set it aside as the negotiator leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you have somewhere we can discuss business?" he asked quietly, glancing at his companions with some distaste. "Privately?"

General Hogan narrowed his eyes at the large eared being - Ferengi, he corrected himself - before he looked towards his Air Force peer.

"There's a room just down the corridor," the junior General offered. "We can keep the other two here. Guards!"

"Now wait a minute, Brother!" the other adult broke in, clearly miffed at being separated as the new humans shepherded his sibling out of the room. "You said we'd do this together. Brother!" Two of the guards firmly, if not forcefully, forced the protesting alien back into the room. For his part Quark merely ignored the pleas as he followed the humans down the hall.

"Let me talk to him alone," General Hogan ordered when Hammond entered. Clayton looked at him incredulously.

"We don't know what these guys can do," the brigadier general hissed in a low voice. "Right now they might be tame but if you're alone with them-"

"Ah, hello!" Quark said indignantly, surprising both men before he pointed to the sides of his head. "I have ears, remember? Besides, I'm a trader not a warrior." He seemed downright disgusted with his hosts for even _suggesting_ the prospect of violence. "If you want someone to kill people, find a Klingon. Ferengi are more civilized."

Robert restrained a smile at Hammond's sudden ire at being overheard by the large-eared alien. "We'll be fine," he reassured the other human. "Just post some guards." He looked at his aide-de-camp. "Stick around, Kinch. I'll probably need you."

The Captain nodded.

The room itself was little more than a set of pale green walls with the standard government issue table and chairs that lent little to the depressing atmosphere. He barely glanced at the mirror set into the wall although he was tempted to raise an eyebrow.

 _Not something I expected but a good call._ Quark, for his part, checked his appearance seemingly unaware that General Hammond and the other officers were on the other side of the mirrored surface. A cork board on one of the drab surfaces held a number of notices and other memoranda. The Ferengi representative eyed one of the items - specifically, a non-military one - with intense interest.

"At least you hew-mons know how to treat females," he observed approvingly, looking at the pinup on the calendar. He slid his index finger over the shapely legs of the scantily clad female figure. "I might even have the right buyer for this...if you're interested."

The former POW smiled thinly as he recalled Hammond's earlier words about Ferengi women. "You'd have a lot of takers in a prison camp," he lamely joked. Quark looked at him quizzically before Hogan waved him off. "Never mind," he said, glancing at the alluring form as old memories resurfaced. "Stuff like that kept us going once upon a time. Now...". He shrugged and gestured to one of the empty chairs. Quark sat down and fidgeted uncomfortably on the hard surface while the human took a seat on the other side of the table.

"So, what exactly is the 'Ferengi Alliance?'" the General inquired, more to break the ice than anything else.

"The Ferengi Alliance is a trading association that has existed for hundreds of years." Quark explained, warming to the topic. "You might think of us as a race of merchants. "

Hogan nodded. "And the Rules of Acquisition?"

"A guide to how we conduct ourselves in business transactions. In effect, our laws." He spread his hands in a friendly gesture of welcoming. "Our primary goal in society to offer our customers a market in quality goods and services."

"For a price, I imagine," the American countered. A familiar tingle vibrated his nerve endings and set him on alert. He didn't know why...

 _...but something's wrong._ He shrugged. _Then again, they are from another planet,_ he reasoned. _Something's bound to be off._

The alien merely smiled. "The lifeblood of any contract." He then leaned in towards his human counterpart. "Then again," he whispered, "I find negotiating to be the best part of any deal. A true test of one's skill at life." A grin, punctuated by pointed teeth, cut across his orange face.

Hogan nodded. "I can understand that," he allowed truthfully. "I'm curious, though. What's the story on your companions? They don't seem like any negotiating team I've ever seen."

A faint hint of alarm passed through Quark's eyes although his face remained impassive. The tell was so quick that only the practiced eye of a knowing observer would have caught it. "Our Alliance relies on what we call the 'art of the deal', the alien explained. "To rise in our society you have to be quick enough to recognize opportunity as well as cunning enough to seize it at the right moment. Negotiations, as you might expect, are an art form best reserved for individuals only."

Quark leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Take our Grand Nagus, for example," he offered. "As I understand it your President is a political leader. He can influence the economy but cannot direct it. In contrast, the Grand Nagus is the supreme political and economic negotiator for the whole Alliance. No decision that affects our people can be made without him."

Robert's right eyebrow went up. "That's a pretty heavy load," he said. Surprisingly, the newcomer understood the reference.

"True," he said smoothly. "But with great responsibility comes great profit. That is what we live for. You have businesses that do the same thing, do you not?"

The human nodded at the valid point. _Henry Ford would come to mind,_ he thought. _Andrew Carnegie. A whole host of others._

"Normally, I would have presented my proposal to your leader by myself," Quark continued. "In this instance my nephew, Nog, and his father, Rom, asked to come with me. My brother doesn't have the lobes for business but on occasion he does prove to be useful. As far as my nephew..." The alien shrugged helplessly. "I'm trying to teach him the proper way to do business. However there are just some things that have to be handled one on one, so to speak."

The General nodded. "Well, I'll be honest," he admitted. "I'm interested in hearing more of what you have to say." Before Quark could begin his pitch the officer raised his hand. "Understanding, of course, that I can't make any agreements without the approval of the President."

"Of course, of course," the newcomer soothed pleasantly. "And I understand. The best negotiations are the most thorough ones. Now, just to be clear, I take it that you want the Americans to be the dominant force on the planet."

"At the moment we are," Robert countered. "We have the atomic bomb. That's something the Russians don't have. At least for now."

"That's true," the alien agreed. Oddly, Hogan was surprised to see a look of disgust - or what he thought was disgust, anyway - pass over Quark's face. He decided to call him on it.

"I take it you think there's something wrong with the A-bomb?"

Quark waved his hand. "I'm just surprised that you haven't blown yourselves up," he admitted candidly. "Honestly, nobody who's _sane_ sets those off in a planetary atmosphere. Why..." A look of horror passed over his face as brain finally caught up with what his mouth was saying. The officer couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at the seemingly human reaction.

 _They may be aliens but they'd make lousy poker players!_

"Don't worry about it," Hogan grinned. "I don't like them either."

"Honestly, humans..." This time, the American was surprised to hear him pronounce the last word correctly. "You like the strangest things. Root beer, for instance. Baseball."

"To each their own," the officer replied. "Though I prefer a good Coke myself."

"Even worse," the alien muttered. "However, just having the atom bomb won't be enough. Eventually, those Russians," - Quark emphasized the last word - "will develop their own bomb. What will happen then?"

Hogan shrugged. "I guess it'll be a standoff," he said noncommittally. "Not a 'hot' war, but more of a cold one."

"And it doesn't have to be," the orange being reassured him. "Before that happens you can have the best energy weapons in the quadrant on your side." He motioned his hand toward the door. "They'd be a lot more effective than those ones your guards carry."

"Ray guns, huh?" At Quark's puzzled expression he elaborated. "Flash Gordon had those, too."

"Flash Gordon?" Quark asked quizzically. "Don't know him." He brushed the name aside before shaking his head. "Then again, never mind. I don't want to know." At that moment he slapped his hands together with a thin-sounding _clap_ that echoed around the room. "A good offense is the best defense anyone can ask for," he declared. "Take your basic weapon, for instance. One of the best all-purpose phasers out there is the Bajoran Type II phaser rifle."

"Bajoran?" Now it was Hogan's turn to be confused.

"Good fighters. Lousy drinkers." Quark momentarily grimaced before turning back to the topic at hand. "Besides, you couldn't find a better weapon anywhere for the price," the Ferengi continued. "It's lightweight, easy to use and is guaranteed to fire under all conditions. There are only two settings: one to stun and one to kill."

The General pursed his lips in thought. "I'm surprised," he admitted honestly. "The weapons we have aren't as...selective."

His guest merely sighed in commiseration. "My people will deal in a lot of things but primitive weapons aren't one of them. Phased energy, on the other hand, does have its uses. You use chemical propellants to power your weapons, correct?"

"Ammunition," Hogan supplied. "Yes."

"Which is only good as long as you have a supply on hand," Quark went on. "Phaser rifles only need a simple charge and are easy to maintain." He interlaced his fingers and gazed kindly at his counterpart. "I'm sure you can easily imagine the cost savings in _not_ producing ammunition," the Ferengi pointed out. "Not to mention, of course, the additional equipment your soldiers can then carry into battle."

The General nodded noncommittally before he pointed out the obvious problem. "The Russians aren't dummies," he countered. "Sooner or later they'll get their hands on one of those phaser rifles." He gave the alien a pointed stare. "They could probably back-engineer one given enough time."

"Not unless they can get past the built-in safeguards," the being politely retorted. "With our help you'll already be developing the next generation of human weapons by the time they begin to understand the basics of phased weaponry. Not to mention, of course, that we can provide you with shields to defend against anything they might come up with."

Hogan remained silent, his face quietly thoughtful.

Quark leaned back in the chair and let a warm smile flow across his lips. "We've been monitoring your planet for quite a while," he smoothly lied, suddenly remembering half-forgotten details he had picked up here and there from his errant nephew. "Your country just came out of a war. I'm sure the destruction and lives lost are immeasurable."

"Too many," the human replied, remembering friends long since gone. Viewing the ruined cities of Germany as well as the concentration camps had been sobering to say the least.

 _Man's inhumanity to man._

 _Makes you wonder if we should survive as a species._

"No one wants war," Quark continued, pleased that his guess was correct. "In the early history of my people we fought among ourselves before we realized that trade was the glue that bound our people together. I'm sure, with the right amount of luck, your people will do the same thing. Who knows? Maybe they'll even form a Federation of some sort." With a supreme effort he managed not to roll his eyes at the nauseating thought.

General Hogan, for his part, was still unconvinced. "Maybe so," he said carefully, keeping his doubts hidden. "That would be one hell of an enterprise to pull off. Two hundred years from now, who knows? We might have our own ships out among the stars. I guess we'll see." He looked into the eyes of the chief negotiator for a long moment. "So," he finally spoke, his voice solemn, "For the right price you'll be able to provide everything we might need." As expected, the subtle sarcasm flew over the being's bulbous head.

"When it comes to defending your home, yes we can," the Ferengi promised grandly. "No reasonable deal will be refused." His wide grin reminded Hogan of the old story of the Cheshire cat.

"Think about what you'd gain in return," the stranger promised. "Surveillance satellites, for instance. You'd be able to look in on those Russians whenever you wanted without fear of retribution. Drones, transporter systems, shuttles that repel gravity...you'd be light years ahead of anyone on this planet. You'll _own_ the planet. You Americans would be able to do as you will. All we have to do is settle on a fair price."

 _Horsetrading. Now this, I understand._ "I'd have to get the President's approval first before we can do anything," the General carefully allowed. "If he approves, trading shouldn't be a problem. Then again I'm not sure what we can offer you."

"Oh, I'm sure we can find _something_ ," Quark said, waving his hand dismissively. "The one thing I've learned in trading is that everything has value." He leaned in, his toothed face almost predatory in anticipation. "I'm sure some of those hew-mon females of yours would be acceptable. That is, if you're willing to trade for them."

"No chance," Hogan's cold glare matched the alien's gaze. After a moment Quark broke away, clearly disappointed.

"Pity," he mumured, his tone sincere for once. "That nurse I met earlier was interesting if not overdressed. You hu-mons give your females too many rights. You let them run around with clothes on, for instance, instead of keeping them at home where they belong."

"I think it makes them more mysterious, if not interesting," the General countered, dismayed at the strict misogynistic streak.

 _What kind of people keep their women at home?_ he wondered.

 _We do,_ a new part of his mind whispered. The thought made him frown.

 _Mike was telling me about the WASP's ***** that flew planes during the war,_ he remembered suddenly. _There were female test pilots, too. They loved to fly. Not that it did them any good in the long run. When the war started winding down the Army cut them loose._

 _Let's be honest: I wouldn't want a woman as my pilot. Then again, I don't like_ anyone _flying me around. I'd rather do it myself. On the other hand it was stupid then and stupid now to get rid of experienced pilots just because they were women and then expect them to stay at home._

 _So let's turn it around: what if the women were running things and sent me home to stay at home? Would I like it?_

 _No._

 _So why should anyone else?_

Instead, Hogan forced a cheerful grin. "As a matter of fact it's a lot like your ship," he continued, inwardly disgusted with the new line of conversation. For the moment he would play along with his visitor.

 _And hope they make soap that can clean my soul._

The Ferengi cocked his head in puzzlement.

"Think about it," he went on, leaning towards the Ferengi. "She's pretty on the outside. However, if you really want to know her...". He let the final words dangle suggestively before a small smirk crossed his handsome face.

Quark laughed heartily and slapped the table with his right hand. "Now you're talking," he chortled knowingly before he looked at a specific portion of the wall. "I'm sure your friends behind that glass would agree as well."

Hogan managed to mask his surprise...barely. "It wasn't something I planned on," he said honestly if not unrepentantly. "But if you have it, why not use it?"

"Advantage is the pillar of fortune," Quark said, automatically reciting the 196th Rule of Acquisition. "I think i'm going to like you hu-mons." He grinned before he extended the next hook.

"Now then, I assume you'd like to see a sample of the merchandise?"

* * *

 _A/N: Nothing to see here, folks. Move along, move along..._

 _Wait! I was just kidding!_

 _The WASP's - Women Airforce Service Pilots - were a courageous group of civilian women who ferried military aircraft from one place to another during World War II. Their history is fascinating to read. Sadly, our government failed to recognize them as veterans until long after the war._

 _There really isn't an official 196th Rule of Acquisition from the DS9 series that I could find (though there probably is one based on the books, etc.) I just made it up._


	3. Demonstrations and Negotiations

_**Hogan vs. Quark**_  
 _ **by 80sarcades**_

* * *

 _Welcome back! The negotiations continue..._

 _ **Special Note:** The other members of Hogan: ST-1 will be making cameo appearances in this story. *****_

 _ **Special Special** **Note:** Hogan is usually portrayed in the series as being smarter than your average bear...or typical con artist. That doesn't count Marya and her antics._

 _ **Triple Special Note:** No fictional women were harmed in the making of this fictional story. ******_

* * *

 _Life just keeps getting stranger and stranger,_ General Hogan decided as he looked up at the odd-shaped ship again. _What's next? A phone booth that will be bigger on the inside than the outside?_ He shook his head.

 _Maybe it'll be a better color than orange..._

Quark, as before, continued to be unfazed by the heavy guard. If nothing else it gave Hogan a new appreciation for the Ferengi negotiator. He doubted that he would as calm as Quark was if he were stuck on an unfamiliar world with no other humans in sight.

The interior of the claustrophobic craft was somewhat disappointing but the technology it held was a wonder unto itself. Watching mind-bending innovations such as solid objects _vanishing_ into thin air before reappearing within a shimmering electric beam was an eye opening event. Still, there was something about the ship that bugged his trained senses.

He just wasn't sure what it was.

With a shrug, he and the other humans watched as Quark retrieved a small box from one of the console pedestals. Trigger fingers slowly relaxed as he popped the lid to reveal a silverly colored object nestled in a black foamy material.

"Do any of you have any cuts?" he asked. "Wounds? Anything like that?" A flurry of silent eyebrows rose as the Americans looked at one another in confusion. Finally, a deep voice spoke up.

"I do," Captain Kinchloe rumbled. The small crowd parted as he stepped forward to roll up his right sleeve. A light cut stretched up his forearm to the elbow.

"Where'd you get that, Kinch?" Hogan asked.

"A branch got me the other day when I was cleaning up," his aide replied. Robert chuckled.

"You never listened when I told you to duck," he joked before he cast a curious eye towards their guest. "What did you have in mind?"

"This." Quark removed the shiny device from the box. "If you'll hold out your arm..."

Kinch looked at his boss and shrugged before he complied with the negotiator's request. A slight _hum_ filled the small chamber as the alien waved the device across the exposed flesh...

...and before the astonished eyes of the assembled humans the angry line slowly faded into nothingness. An awed General Hogan used his index finger to trace the dark skin where the cut had been. There was no scab. No rough spots.

Nothing.

"And if you like that..." Quark commented, his voice turning smug as he took advantage of their collective shock, "...you should see what a phaser can do."

* * *

The energy weapon had been nothing short of impressive. Hogan had watched the golden beam carve up a section of thick plate steel with relative ease. And if it could do that to living flesh...

The General shuddered at the thought.

After the successful test the American 'suggested' the meeting resume in the morning. No one, least of all the aliens, objected to the break. It would also give the humans time to 'soup' the film of the phaser demonstration and rush it to Washington D.C. via a F-80C fighter jet.

 _It's been a long day._

Only the guards, standing post around the alien craft, shared the hangar with the senior officer. The newcomers had long since departed for their temporary quarters. Yet the leader of the trio weighed heavily on the human's mind.

 _Quark's obviously got the goods to back his promises._ _We wouldn't have to worry about the Russians any more. Or anyone else._

 _So why am I worried?_

 _Or am I just paranoid?_

 _This whole situation is bizarre to begin with. These people, whoever they are, could conquer us without really thinking about it. Yet they want to give us a wish list of goodies beyond our wildest dreams. So what's the ultimate angle?_

 _Do they want us to destroy the Russians? For what purpose? Or do they want us to destroy each other? Again, to what end? Somehow I have a feeling this is a lose-lose proposition no matter what happens._

 _Nothing about this makes sense._

Lost in his thoughts he barely noticed Captain Kinchloe's approach before his senses _jarred_ him to the man's presence. Robert, grateful for the company, stood quietly for a moment before he finally broke the silence.

"What's your take on them, Kinch?" he asked.

"Personally, I don't trust them," the former radioman bluntly replied. He rubbed the sleeve of his covered arm. "It doesn't mean I'm not impressed with what they can do," he said appreciatively. "That weapon they used scared the hell out of me, though."

"Yeah," Hogan nodded, somewhat relieved to have a confirming opinion.

A slight frown pursed Kinch's lips as his eyes flicked across the outlines of the craft. "Something stinks, General," he said at last. "Quark might be telling the truth. Then again he reminds me of some of those Krauts that came into camp. A lot of those had their own agenda, too."

 _There's truth in that,_ he remembered. "So, what would you do if you were in my shoes?"

The younger man shrugged noncommittally before a mischievous twinkle entered his eye. "Is it too late to resign?" he asked innocently.

The general snorted. "And leave this paradise?" he chided. "Sorry, Kinch. You're in for the long haul."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

The older man chuckled and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Yeah," he agreed. "Get some rest. We'll see where this leads tomorrow." He couldn't help but feel a bit envious as he watched Kinch's retreating back.

 _It's been a long time since you were a captain, too,_ he reminded himself. _Back then you could still have fun. Well, that's why they pay you the big bucks, isn't it?_

He then frowned. _Seven hundred bucks doesn't cover this!_ *******

Impulsively, he walked over and touched the surface of the alien craft. _Like steel, but not,_ he judged. _Like our visitors, there's more beneath the surface than meets the eye._

 _So how do I find out the truth? Or is there a truth?_

Robert, his face outwardly calm, puzzled over the quandary before he walked outside for a breath of fresh air. The beautiful desert sunset offered no answers for his troubled mind.

* * *

General Hogan, slightly refreshed after a restless night's sleep, sat down across from the grinning-to-the-large-ears alien and his two cohorts. For the first time in his career he regretted not retiring from the service at the end of the war.

Even if the Ferengi were truly sincere - which was a long shot - and wanted to broker a deal there was another question: what would humanity trade in return? He had no doubt that truckloads of gold, much less Fort Knox itself, would be involved if certain politicians had their way.

 _So would the Joint Chiefs. I thought they were going to start cheering when I spoke to them early this morning. They'll take anything they can get…and who can blame them? Military spending has been slashed to the bone across the board. The only thing stopping Stalin from taking the rest of Europe – and he could, if he really wanted to - is the A-Bomb. It won't be too much longer before he gets the damned thing either. At that point we'll be back to square one._

 _To summarize the situation: for whatever reason, the Ferengi want to make a deal with us. If we meet their price everyone is happy. I believe Quark when he says they're a race of traders. Quite frankly, I have a hard time imagining them as soldiers. And that's the rub: they could be, if only indirectly. It'd be pretty easy for the Ferengi to use those phasers and hide behind those screens - sorry, shields - to take what they wanted._

 _Again, there is something wrong here._

 _Even more: if we know there's a problem would we want to solve it?_

And that was what bothered General Hogan.

 _No one wants to listen._

He had outlined his objections but the reality was clear: _I'm the kid in the candy store. The President himself told me to hammer out a fair deal. I can ask whatever questions I want but the endgame is simple: make the deal._ _It's Hobson's choice: I can - no, will - be blamed if anything goes wrong. However, I can't walk away from it._

 _It almost makes me wish I was back at Stalag 13. God, I really need a vacation!_

Instead of speaking, Hogan looked at the Ferengi with narrowed eyes. _Clayton's right,_ he decided. _Quark is their version of a used car salesman. He's certainly smooth enough. Then again, he's got one helluva car on his lot..._

"So, General," the alien began before he bared his pointed teeth in a triumphant grin. "I take it you're interested in what I'm offering."

"Maybe," Hogan allowed slowly, keeping his face neutral. "Depends on what you want in return."

"Do you have any gold-pressed latinum?" Quark asked bluntly. The American blinked.

"Gold pressed what?"

"They don't have gold-pressed latinum, Uncle," his nephew murmured The elder Ferengi grimaced slightly at being interrupted.

"I think I just figured that out, Nog," Quark growled before his face returned to its seemingly pleasant state. "Still, as I said everything has value. What else can you offer?"

"Gold bars, for starters," General Hogan said. "Beyond that, diamonds and rubies."

"That's all?" the alien blurted, his voice shocked. "And I thought Humans were more creative than that." A lustful, if not calculating, gleam then appeared in the visitor's eyes. "Sure you don't want to trade for some of those females out there?" he asked hopefully.

"No dice," Robert firmly declared. Quark gave him a puzzled look.

"What do dice have to do about anything?" his puzzled tones echoed. "We were talking about women..."

"...like that hu-mon female that gave me oo-mox," Nog said dreamily despite his Uncle's sudden scrowl. "She was a natural!"

"She was awfully cute, wasn't she?" Rom acknowledged with a knowing grin before his eyes turned wistful with memory. "And that hair..."

A unsettling, if not slightly nauseous, feeling crawled across Hogan's skin as he finally realized what ' _oo-mox_ ' was.

 _These guys make Congressmen look like saints!_

"Will you two be quiet?" Quark's exasperated voice rang out before he turned back to a disgusted American General. "My apologies," he said formally before he shot another pointed glare toward his offending relatives. "My brother and his nephew seem to have forgotten that females and business do not mix."

"But Uncle!" Nog interjected. "The 94th-"

"I know what the rule says!" Quark snapped, cutting him off. "It's the same thing! Now be quiet!" He then flashed a seemingly friendly grin at their host. "Now then," he said returning to business. "What else do you have?"

* * *

 ** _Ninety-one minutes, twenty seconds, and 527.35 annoying milliseconds later..._**

The supposed chief financial negotiator for the Ferengi Alliance - also known as the proprietor of Quark's Bar, Grill, Gaming House and Holosuite Arcade though he wasn't about to admit that salient fact to his host - shook his head in exasperation as he declined another human offer of payment. Strangely, it gave the former prisoner of war a new appreciation for diplomats.

 _As in: they have the patience of Job. Either that or they just like pain!_

 _Plus, I can't stick our visitors in a deep dark hole underneath the stockade,_ he thought wryly. _It would set a bad example for the troops. Besides, these guys might be smart enough to find a way out!_

One thing he was sure of, however: he was quickly running out of items to send over the target. Quark, as precise as a flak gun, had shot down every offer made short of the British Crown Jewels.

 _And God knows I know someone that could get them if it came to that!_

"Let's take a thirty minute break," he finally announced, forcing a charming smile onto his weary face. "Given time I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

The negotiator's return grin was equally magnanimous. "Of course," he allowed graciously. "Whenever you're ready."

Hogan, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, 'accidentally' let his chair noisily scrape against the floor as he stood up and was rewarded by a simultaneous _cringe_ from all three of the big eared aliens.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. Quark looked at him with a sideways glance but otherwise said nothing. The General ordered the officers waiting outside, save for his aide, to grab some coffee before he walked down the hallway to another nondescript office. The government-issued nameplate on the desk inside read 'Captain John Smith'.

Idly, Robert resisted the urge to see if a certain Luftwaffe Colonel's reports were among the pile of papers laying on the flat surface. Kinch, following behind, closed the door.

"Got any ideas?" the general asked, all traces of humor gone as he sagged against a bare wall.

A deep sigh echoed around the room before the captain's gaze met his. "Frankly, no," he said bluntly. "If Fort Knox didn't get them what will? Maybe we're going about this the wrong way." Hogan eyed Kinch with interest.

"How so?"

"It's pretty obvious they don't value what we do. They also seem to have a pretty good understanding of us...I mean, humans." The junior officer shrugged. "I'd almost suggest offering them some of my Aunt Grace's lemon cake if it'd help."

Robert looked at his former second-in-command with a jaundiced glare. "I'd never thought I'd see the day you'd try to poison anyone, Kinch," he joked as his lips split into a weak grin. "That cake was awful."

The black officer was unrepentant, though smiling in agreement. "Everyone has different tastes. These guys, though..." He frowned. "The only real denominator is that they like women. And that's the strange thing."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, they really perk up whenever a woman is around," he pointed out. "That nurse, for example."

"So do most of the guys around here," Hogan observed.

"Yeah, but...". Kinch struggled for the proper words, "...it's like an exotic flavor to them, you know? Even at that you'd think the obvious differences would be a turn off but they aren't. It just gave me the feeling that they've been around women before. Human women," he corrected.

The general pursed his lips in considered thought. "Maybe it doesn't matter to them," he offered, though he didn't believe it himself. "Or they've seen a lot of alien women themselves."

"Maybe," the former radioman agreed although his tone suggested otherwise. With a derisory snort he changed the subject. "So what else can you give them?"

"We'll probably have to bring out the big guns," his friend said. "Think Peter could get us the secret formula for Coke?"

Kinch laughed. "We'd probably have better luck getting Marya to make a house call."

This time, Hogan couldn't help but laugh darkly. "Those big heads of theirs would probably implode if she showed up," he said laconically, almost cheerfully picturing her effect in his mind's eye.

 _A man can dream, can't he?_

"Not an option," he sadly declared. "Besides, LeBeau would kill me." The diminutive Frenchman had never gotten over his love for the Russian spy. "Let's go take a look at their ship again," he suggested. "Maybe we can pick up a few clues."

* * *

 _A/N: The mystery deepens. Will Hogan find what he's looking for? Is Quark up to something evil? Is there a guy actually named Captain Obvious? Stay tuned for the next chapter where Hogan offers Quark his own personal harem! (Just kidding...maybe.)_

 _Would any of the kind ladies from the audience like to volunteer to serve our Ferengi guest? I'm sure he'd welcome any takers. I'd try it myself but my little black dress was absolutely ruined at the cleaners last week, so..._

* * *

 _ ***** Sorry, but I was just trying to get your hopes up before I crushed them, Major Hochstetter-style. There's no such show as Hogan: ST-1 and none of the other characters will be making an appearance. However, it'd be cool to see a younger Richard Dean Anderson play Colonel Hogan. Especially if he was able to channel a snarky Jack O'Neill into the character._

 _ ****...** but then again it depends on your definition of harm. The women in this story play mostly bit parts and are paid way less than Alice from The Brady Bunch. Not to mention that they look pretty darned good in a dress - it's the 1940's, after all! Naturally, it goes without saying that a woman's place is in the home..._

 _(The author pales as he catches sight of an angry female mob in the distance. Knives, glittering in the noonday sun, sparkle dangerously as they quickly advance on his position)_

 _...Uh, the White House! Yeah, that's right! The Russians stole the election from President Hillary! Uh...Girl Power!_

 _(With that, the unseen author raised a fist in simulated sisterly solidarity before he cowardly ducked around a corner and into the next chapter)_

 _ ******* The base pay for a Major General in 1947 was $733.33 per month. Obviously, the dollar was worth a lot more then._


	4. Hell hath no fury

**_Hogan vs. Quark_**  
 ** _by 80sarcades_**

* * *

 ** _A sincere note to my female readers:_**

 _Of late, I have received a number of derogatory PM's concerning the misogynistic tone of this fictional tale. Rest assured, dear friends, that I do not personally espouse the Neanderthalish nonprogressive nomenclature conveyed by my speakwrite. I have no desire to be malquoted by my oldspeak but would instead rather be known as a doublepluspositive conduit for goodthink.*_

 _To express that my deliberately doctored duckspeak is not in line with the perceived wordcrime presented in this thoughttale I've asked the distinguished Doctor Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce to express his views on the rest of the forthcoming chapters. Dr. Pierce?_

(snoring)

 _Hawkeye!_

A dark haired man rose slightly from the bed before he gratefully sank down into its gentle embrace. "You again," he groused tiredly. "Can't you at least send a blonde to wake me up?"

 _Hawkeye..._

"All right, already," the doctor grumbled before he rose up to switch on the overhead light. Tired eyes blinked as he tried to focus on reality. "Yeah, ok, I remember," he wearily slurred. "You wanted me to look at that story of yours." He then rummaged though the untidy pile of magazines next to his cot. "Let's see...Vixen Volleyball, Nudist Monthly..."

"While I dearly appreciate fan fiction authors," a grumpy Bostonian accent piped up, "could we possibly do this when I don't have to listen to a recitation of Pierce's filth?"

"Lay off, Charles," B.J. Hunnicut interjected, defending his bunkmate and friend. "That's the price of fame." He blearily looked at the canvas ceiling. "Of course, anytime other than three am would have been nice..."

At that moment Hawkeye started to giggle. "A planet of women that runs around _naked_?" he blurted incredulously. "Better not tell Margaret. She'd have a fit."

 _Uh, Hawkeye, that's not what it's about..._

The doctor, ignoring the unseen author, continued to flip pages as his now-alert eyes scanned the contents. "So this General Hogan, whoever he is, can do _that?_ " he snickered, a trace of sheer envy in his eyes. "You'd think someone in the M*A*S*H universe could give _me_ a storyline like that..."

"Dear God," Major Winchester moaned through the pillow covering his face. "Make him stop!"

B.J. propped himself onto his left arm. "Hawk," he began reasonably if not irritably. "Can this wait until morning? And if not, can I set that on fire?"

His friend barely registered the threat as the chortle turned into a full hyena's peal of laughter that echoed across the camp. Curious, B.J. picked up the discarded manuscript and glanced at the last page.

"Wouldn't want to be that guy...," he muttered.

At that moment the door to the Swamp almost flew off its hinges as a stern looking blonde tornado wearing a pink bathrobe made her presence known.

"PIERCE!" she screamed. As one, the men cringed. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU KEEPING EVERYONE AWAKE WITH YOUR RIDICULOUS LAUGHING?! SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!"

The head surgeon dazzled the irate woman with his most charming smile. "Did I tell you how lovely you look today?" he innocently asked.

"Stuff it, Captain!" Major Margaret Houlihan spat, not giving an inch. "Or have you forgotten about the patients in Post Op?"

"Sorry, Margaret," Pierce said, his voice genuinely contrite. The nurse's stance eased ever so slightly in response. "It wasn't our fault, either-" he started to explain.

"Ours?" Charles said indignantly, rising up to protest. "Don't include myself in your shenanigans, Pierce!"

"For once I agree with Chuck," Hunnicut declared. "We had nothing to do with this!"

"Majors, Captains," a tired voice, its owner cradling a M1 rifle against a red dress, broke in behind them. "Could you pipe down? It's hard enough to sleep on guard duty."

"Stay out of this, Klinger!" Margaret snarled, her voice returned to full roar before she rounded on Hawkeye. "And just what were you laughing at?"

"Margaret, relax," Pierce soothed before he retrieved the manuscript from B.J.. "It was all a big misunderstanding. I was just reading this fan fiction story for one of the authors and I-"

At that moment the rest of his sentence was cut off by a long _gasp_ of shocked breath as the woman's eyes locked onto one of the nudist magazines laying on the floor. Just then, a gruff voice broke the still air.

"Would you mind explaining the confab at three in the morning?" Colonel Sherman Potter's aged - yet still powerful - voice sounded out. Margaret snatched the magazine from the floor and held it in front of the camp commander's face.

"And what would you say this looks like, Colonel?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Potter studied the buxom - and quite nude - woman on the front cover. "Well, I think I can say she's not Doris Day," he offered.

A high-pitched growl emanated from the female officer's throat. "It's filth!" she declared resolutely. "Disgusting filth!"

"That would have been my second guess," Potter deadpanned kindly. A recognizable chuckle from behind send Margaret whirling.

"Pierce!" she screeched, throwing the magazine down on the floor. "You're an officer! You're supposed to be responsible!"

"I've always been responsible!" Hawkeye shot back, unfazed. "When have I ever failed to bring alcohol on a first date?"

The head nurse looked scandalized. "You pervert!" she spat, disgust in her eyes. "What kind of man does that to innocent women?"

"There is a reason we call it the Swamp, Margaret," Pierce hotly protested. "Besides, none of this is my fault!"

"And just whose fault is it?" Major Houlihan growled, her strident voice attracting a small - and somewhat awake - crowd assembling outside the walls of the tent. In response, Hawkeye looked at the ceiling and the author above it all.

 _Well..._ I hesitantly began. _My apologies, ma'am,_ I said formally _, but it really wasn't Hawkeye's fault. I asked him to look over the story and I used the nudie magazines as a prop-_

"MEN!" Margaret screamed, fully enraged as she yelled to the world above. "YOU'RE ALL THE SAME! NOTHING MORE THAN A LOUSY NO-GOOD BUNCH OF PERVERTS!"

"I'm beginning to regret even coming over here..." Potter muttered.

 _But ma'am,_ I said weakly in protest. _You can't even_ see _anything in fanfiction-_

"And I wish we could be _written_ out of this scene so we can get some sleep!" Winchester finished, his tired voice infused with anger.

"Me, too," Hunnicut piped in.

"Me, three," Klinger moaned.

"Oh, all of you, SHUT UP!" With that pronouncement she stormed out of the tent.

"Well, I guess she's better now..." Pierce began.

Suddenly, a primal scream of womanly _rage_ erupted into the night moments before the long-suffering front door was torn from its hinges by female hands and thrown across the compound. The owner of the appendages, her anger briefly sated, turned to the shocked occupants of the tent before gracefully bowing to a light clapping from the outside crowd.

"Gentlemen..." she smiled, the cheerful grin not quite reaching her fiery eyes. With that, she turned for her tent.

"...and I think that deserves a drink," Hawkeye finished morosely, looking gratefully at the still.

 _Hawkeye..._

Pierce looked towards the ceiling. "What now?" he moaned.

 _You didn't tell me what you thought of the rest of the chapters._

"Oh, that," he nodded. He paused and fixed drinks for the other men before he raised his glass in a toast. "Great job," he declared before he took a healthy swig of alcohol. "The girls are going to kill you."

 _Thanks, Hawkeye,_ I sarcastically groused. _Not to worry, though. I'll write you a good story one of these days._

"At least make it interesting," Pierce muttered. "I'm getting tired of being stereotyped."

 _Not to worry,_ I promised. _It'll be an all new plot! Something you haven't done before._

 _"_ Finally!" the head surgeon declared, relieved to hear the good news. "You don't know how tiring it is to repeat the same bad jokes over and over again. No one is original nowadays." He took another sip from his martini glass and looked upward. "So tell me," he began, his voice turning low and seductive, "are you setting me up with a blonde, brunette...or redhead?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively while flashing his trademark grin.

 _Oh, definitely brunette,_ I told him. _It'll be that whole mysterious-object-changes Hawkeye-into-a-woman bit. What'ya think?_

A white sheen of sweat suddenly appeared on Hawkeye's pale skin moments before he downed the last of the alcohol. "You wouldn't..." he whispered, his now-fearful voice trailing off into a deathly silence. His bunkmates, terrified they would be included in the author's fendish plot, remained silent.

 _But it'll be great!_ I went on, happily enthused. _The scene where you have a 'girl's night out' with Major Houlihan and swap nail polish will be so majorly awesome! Then, I'll set you up on that hot date with Colonel Flagg! And that's just the beginning!_

Pierce slumped to the floor, dazed. "It's not fair..." he murmured, tears streaming down his handsome cheeks before he began to sob openly.

 _Uh, Hawkeye?_

 _Hawkeye?_

(more sobbing)

 _Oh, boy..._ The author turned and bowed to his unseen audience. _Uh, ladies and germs, my apologies! While I fix this please enjoy the rest of the story!_

* * *

 ** _Meanwhile, back in Roswell..._**

The craft, though well lighted inside, was enough to give General Hogan a slight chill. Granted, most of the instruments were probably harmless. However...

 _...with my luck so far I'd probably hit the self-destruct. Which, on reflection, might not be a bad thing._

Even so, the intangible _feeling_ from his last visit hovered at the edge of his senses. Again, it was nothing he could put his finger on. Still it was enough to keep him alert as they began their search

The two men poked around the small bridge for a long moment but found nothing of real interest. Sadly, the rest of the ship was just as disappointing. It reminded Hogan of a cramped cargo plane more than anything else.

The only real curiosity lay in one of the rear areas of the ship. A number of sturdy looking yellow and gray barrels, their sides dented, lay haphazardly on the metal floor of what was obviously a cargo area. Some of the lids had blown off the containers to reveal empty blackened interiors.

But _not on the_ _outside of the barrels,_ Robert thought. Indeed, none of the exterior surfaces were scorched in any way. _Odd_. _Some kind of explosive?_ he wondered, discarding the possibility almost immediately. The container would have blown apart if that we were the case. Curious, they upended one of the intact heavy vessels and removed the lid to find...

 _...rocks?_

The two officers looked at the pile of multicolored nuggets before they stared at one another in confusion.

"Fuel, maybe?" Kinch ventured, though the doubt came through loud and clear. The General merely shrugged and picked up a handful of the contents. He twirled several tiny pieces between his fingers and was startled to see them _spark_ with a harmless orange light. Carefully, he laid the rocks back in the container and closed the lid.

"This just gets stranger and stranger..." he muttered. The captain, for his part, merely nodded in agreement.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked. The older man gave the barrel a thoughtful look before he turned back to reality.

"We keep looking," he announced. "And pray we get lucky."

Unfortunately, the rest of the search proved to be fruitless. Kinch, ever the tinkerer, continued to nose around the engine area while Hogan returned to the front of the small starcraft.

Once there he stood behind a white and gray half circular ball that had been described as a sort of 'helm' that controlled the ship. As he looked at the shiny black viewscreen - off now but it had showed a true-to-life color view of the hangar interior during their earlier visit - it was hard to imagine that anything so odd shaped could travel between the stars.

 _But why not?_ He questioned. A _fter all, it wasn't too long ago that Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic in a single-seat airplane. Now we send planes across the water without a single thought. That's progress. Given time, we could develop our own space ships and reach for whatever's out there. Of that I have no doubt._

 _I wonder if there are other humans out there right now?_

It was a dubious thought, given the appearance of their visitors, but he would always wonder...

 _And I guess I'll never really know._ Yet the inconsistency of the alien presence still bothered him.

Hogan pondered the situation before his aide-de-camp returned. "We're out of luck, General," he reluctantly admitted. "Unless they have a hidden safe somewhere there's nothing here. No souvenirs, except for this." He pulled a shiny token out of his bellows pocket and handed it over. "Found it in one of the crew quarters," he explained. "Some kind of symbol, I think."

General Hogan took the proffered piece and studied it. A silverish stylized triangle superimposed on a rounded golden rectangle greeted his inquisitive eyes. "It might be their version of a unit patch," he offered in lieu of a better explanation. Kinch merely shrugged.

Robert handed the triangle back to his aide. "Well, we tried," the senior man sighed, accepting apparent defeat. "You might as well let Quark know we're ready to return." The look that crossed his face indicated what he thought of the idea. "Personally, I'd rather deal with Burkhalter," he declared, meaning it. "At least you know where you stood with him."

His aide chuckled knowingly as he looked around the bridge. "Never thought I'd say it, but this almost makes me miss Stalag 13." Kinch's lips, widening into a small grin, contrasted sharply with the coldness in his eyes. "Almost."

"Yeah," Hogan breathed, understanding the feeling.

"I'll let them know, General," he quietly acknowledged. With that, he left his boss alone in the orange-tinged chamber. Impulsively, and against his better judgement, Robert reached out to tap some of the black displays and was unsurprised when they failed to light up.

 _They did earlier. I guess they shut them down to save power on whatever's running this ship._

He eyed the few functioning panels - illuminated in blocks and lines of what he assumed to be the Ferengi language - and stepped forward. As he did so his foot caught on an unseen object and he stumbled forward. Fortunately his right hand managed to catch the edge of a padded chair moments before he would have struck a panel with his head. A dry laugh escaped his lips as he shakily, if not embarrassingly, composed himself.

 _Here lies Robert Hogan,_ he quipped darkly. _He survived Stalag 13 only to be done in by his own shoelace aboard an alien starship!_ A grim smile spread across his tight lips. _Someone else would have to take over the negotiations, wouldn't they?_

He then frowned at the supposedly happy thought.

 _My replacement would probably give them whatever they wanted. Hell, a few of my so-called colleagues would probably turn over their mother-in-law just to get their hands on one of those phaser rifles. All in the name of national security, of course._

 _It's a win-win for everyone. Or so it seems._

 _So why do I have the feeling that Quark has another plan in mind?_ The idea, hovering around his gut, was impossible to shake.

 _There's just too many problems with his story,_ Hogan judged. _First off, you have three aliens - all of them related - and only one of them proposes an important business deal. Who in their right mind does that? In contrast, the State Department would have sent a team of seasoned professionals to negotiate. That doesn't even include the advisers that would show off their wonderful goodies._

 _Secondly: they have weapons but no security detail. There is no way that I would go into a potentially hostile situation without someone to back me up._

 _Third: The cargo. You'd think their hold would be filled with more examples of technology than the ad-hoc display they put on earlier. Instead they're carrying the alien equivalent of...well, shiny rocks._

 _Of course there are probably differences. They may negotiate alone for all I know. Quark was right about one thing: trading is a game of skill. Still, I'd bet my pension that something's up._

 _I have no doubt that this 'Ferengi Alliance', whatever it is, exists. On the other hand the chances of these guys actually representing them are pretty low. I'd go further and say nonexistent. Honestly, if I represented an all-powerful alliance I'd bring proof - a letter from their Grand Nagus would have done the trick - instead of just showing up out of the blue._

 _Final point, and one worth making: they're comfortable around us. Too comfortable. Much more than I would have been if I had been watching their people from newsreels or whatever they use. What's more, I have the feeling they've done this before. And the kid…_

He recalled an earlier conversation between the uncle and his nephew.

 _The kid has me intrigued. He knows something. Nearly blurted it out before his uncle shut him up. What it is, I have no idea. I almost considered questioning him separately. Guess I should have,_ he regretted inwardly. _Still, I'd swear he knows something important._

 _But what?_

The General tapped his finger on one of the dark consoles.

 _What if my hunch is correct? Let's play it out to the obvious conclusion: The Ferengi are trying to escape. They'll promise the natives - us - whatever we want to let them go. After that, we'll never see them again._

 _Somehow I have the feeling that's what happening here._ Hogan let out a long breath of frustration as he stared into a unknown future. _This reminds me of the story of the guy who fooled the Brits into believing he was the leader of some distant country. He got away with it and a bunch of loot, too. ******_

 _History could be repeating itself. In a manner of speaking._

Robert walked to the front of the 'bridge' and studied the smooth surface for a moment. The rest of the small room, now reflected in the dark glass, came into sharp focus.

 _This is a no-win situation._ A wry grin then curled his lips in sudden humor.

 _A no-win scenario would be one heck of a training exercise!_

 _So how do I prove my hunch?_ Hogan narrowed his eyes at the mirrored reflection.

 _What am I missing?_

General Hogan turned and let his eyes slowly roam across the cramped bridge once more. As he did so a sudden glint of reflected light caught his attention. He followed the source and saw a small rounded protrusion breaking the smooth gap between one of the consoles and the lighted electronic wall. Frowning, he carefully used his fingertips to ease the hidden prize from the narrow opening.

 _Souvenir number two, I presume?_

That thought was quickly followed by:

 _What the heck is this?_

He studied the dark glass that covered the upper half of the strange flat object. A rainbow mixture of colored rectangles on the bottom part of the gray oddity gave off a soft glow that indicated a unknown purpose.

 _Some kind of device,_ the General logically reasoned. _Their version of a notepad?_

Hogan turned the object over and was surprised to see a brown label located on the lower backside. Even more shockingly, the white lettering was in English:

 _DataPADD_

And then, in smaller letters to the right:

 _Personal Access Display Device_

Below the second phrase was a series of numbers and letters that were instantly recognizable.

 _Some sort of serial number._ He flipped the item over several times in disbelief.

 _It's in English,_ he repeated dully, looking at the words again. _English._ He hefted the light 'padd' in his hand.

 _I've never seen anything like it._

Girding himself, he hesitantly reached out to touch one of the colored keys...and was instantly rewarded as the dark glass flared to life. As if by magic, golden words formed beneath the smooth surface. The photo of a handsome Negro man - a human! - stared at him from the right side of the glass. He drank in the readable text beside the image with unabashed interest.

 _Gabriel Bell? Sanctuary Districts?_

It was the dates that shocked him the most. _September 1st-3rd 2024._ Robert blinked, then yet again. For a moment he finally wondered if he had gone crazy.

 _Maybe I have_ , he thought. _I'm reading the impossible on something that shouldn't exist aboard a ship built by aliens. If that wouldn't drive someone bonkers, what would_?

He tapped another 'button' and was surprised when the words disappeared to show a title page.

 _It's_ _a book,_ his stunned mind belatedly realized. _A book_. The title said it all:

 _ **A Cadet's Guide to Sector 001: Earth**_

* * *

 _A/N: This was the second of two major issues I had with the episode. Honestly, you can't tell me that the guys that searched the shuttle (and unless the Ferengi trio staggered outside into the desert they would have) missed the equivalent of an iPad with all of Earth's future history on it? It'd be the same thing as someone finding a recent copy of Grays Sports Almanac back in the 1950's! Someone should really make a movie about that..._

 _Gabriel Bell was a character in the DS9 episode 'Past Tense'._

 _No, I won't turn Hawkeye into a woman. At least for now (insert evil laughter here)._

 _*'1984', a novel by George Orwell, is a classic telling of futuristic Britain. Wikipedia has a list of the above terms; I couldn't resist using them!_

 _**This actually happened. In the early part of the 19th century a guy by the name of Gregor MacGregor swindled 200,000 pounds out of investors by pretending he was the leader of a county called Poyais (located in Honduras). He even went so far as to charter ships full of settlers for the nonexistent land. Of the 250 colonists that sailed off for Poyais only some 50 returned. Believe it or not but he was never brought to justice until he tried the same scheme in France. Even then, he got away and was able to hang on to some of the money. Real justice there..._

 _It's not beyond the realm of possibility that Nog (the owner of the guide above) could have received a Starfleet com badge (or a deactivated one) as a going away present prior to his departure from DS9. He was on his way to Starfleet Academy at that point._

 _Character side note: Sorry for making you two-dimensional, Margaret. You were such a great character in the later seasons! I'll make it up to you. I promise...ish..._


	5. Deceptions Revealed

**_Hogan vs. Quark_**  
 ** _by 80sarcades_**

* * *

 _Welcome back! My apologies for the late update. I've had a number of personal issues to take care of which made me forget about this story...then I forgot again...lol. I then almost didn't finish it for reasons that will become soon apparent._

 _To recap: Three Ferengi visitors (Quark, his brother Rom and nephew Nog) have accidentally time-traveled to 1947 Earth. Given their luck, their ship crash lands in Roswell, New Mexico, where they become 'guests' of the United States Army Air Forces. General Hogan is sent to investigate the new arrivals. Naturally, Quark has a plan to con Hogan into releasing them. The General, of course, has his doubts about his visitor...which are blown wide open when Hogan finds a book describing the future Earth._

 _Two con artists, and one of them has finally been given a level playing field. God help Quark:-)_

 _Note: This story was written before the wave of sexual harassment charges that reached from Hollywood to Congress and all points in between. Keep in mind that in 1947 the world was a bit...different...from the one we know today. Even so, be warned that Hogan's ultimate plan to defeat Quark might not be as 'PG' rated as you might expect._

 _Enjoy the story!_

* * *

For a moment, General Hogan felt lightheaded before he controlled himself.

 _Dear God in heaven,_ he thought wonderingly before his shocked eyes looked at the title again. An electronic image of Earth - one he suspected was real - burned itself into his disbelieving mind.

 _What is going on?_

He hit another of the lighted colors and frowned at the table of contents.

 _Cultures, customs, regions...history._ He slowly 'navigated' his way to the latter page through trial and error and scanned the subsection in disbelief.

 _Middle Ages...Industrial Age...Wars...Space Exploration...United Federation of Planets..._

 _Wait. What?_

Robert's eyes backtracked to the beginning. The problem was readily evident as he used the buttons to drill to the details. A lifetime later he set the pad down, his reality shaken.

 _As far as I can tell, what they have for the Second War is accurate,_ he realized. _More or less, anyway. It's just...the afterward that makes no sense._

He picked up the device again.

 _According to this, the United States and the Soviet Union entered into a 'Cold War' with each other._ That jibed with current events.

 _The Communists are running the show in the eastern half of Europe. It wouldn't take much to heat it up, either._

From there history took a different turn. The war that resulted was not one he expected: a 'space race'. First prize: the moon. A color movie of an enormous white and black rocket - the size of which easily dwarfed the V2's he was familiar with by a long shot - climbing toward the blue sky was immediately followed by the image of a figure in an oversized white suit stepping onto the surface of a gray powdery world.

 _This has to be a joke,_ a disbelieving portion of his mind told him. The rational part, more attuned to reality, had only two words for its fellow cluster of cells:

 _Shut. up._

More text, followed by pictures and movies, flowed beneath his incredulous eyes. Fortunately, he was able to maneuver himself into one of the nearby cushioned chairs before his suddenly shaky legs gave way. Another World War, even more terrifying than the first two, glared at him from a future he didn't want to see. In its aftermath Humanity, or what was left of it, would make first contact with an alien race called Vulcans. Eventually a coalition of races, with humanity being the glue that held them together, would form the United Federation of Planets...

Slowly, General Hogan became aware of the sharp pain that coursed through his fingers as they dug into the pad's hard surface. He let a long shuddering breath escape from his nostrils as he struggled to bring his anger under control.

 _That little son of a…_ Robert bit off the mental curse and instead gritted his teeth at recalling Quark's now-obvious reference. A dual, if unneeded, set of thoughts popped into his brain:

 _They're from the future!_

 _Our future!_

At that moment a long-forgotten sense of _danger_ jarred his nerve endings into alert focus. Hogan stood up and lazily stretched his limbs before he tucked the device underneath his back waistband and out of sight. As he did so his hard eyes swept the deserted interior in a practiced, yet nonchalant, manner. Nothing seemed amiss but the eerie feeling remained.

 _Just jittery,_ he supposed, breathing the familiar emotion into nothingness. _Look at where I'm at now. I'm on an alien ship. A real, honest-to-goodness Flash Gordon craft. I saw a ray gun in action. And then, there's the book._

 _Proof – not that I really needed it, I guess – that I'm being rolled._

 _So what happens now?_ the General wondered. _Let's say my initial hunch stands. Our friends are using these negotiations as a way to escape. What's to stop them from going to their own people in the here and now and then coming back to conquer us?_

 _The answer: not much._

 _If the tablet is correct – and right now I believe it more than I do Quark - then the Ferengi are literally in the wrong time and wrong place. Which makes them not only a threat to the United States but to the whole world as well._

 _So once more play it out: We call them on their bluff and take the ship for ourselves. Eventually, some genius figures out how everything on the ship works. And if – no, when - we manage to duplicate their weapons..._

It was a horrifying thought. Even worse was the nauseating image that followed: a whole planet laid to waste by those golden beams of death.

 _My God!_ Hogan thought, almost physically shaking from the cold wave of fear that doused his soul. _And we would do it, too. We're good at building things that can help us…or kill us. Look at what we did with airplanes. If we could go from the Wright Brothers to aircraft that can carry tons of bombs - much less atom ones – in the space of forty years then who's to say we couldn't do the same thing with their technology?_

 _The human race would be extinct._

He withdrew the futuristic pad from his waistband and studied the gray exterior for a long moment. This time, his thoughts were resolute.

 _I can't let that future happen._

 _So how the hell do I accomplish that?_

The American absently tapped his finger on the nearby chair as he considered the problem.

 _I need a way to get rid of these guys and keep our people happy at the same time. A way to convince them to go back to the future...if they can. Let's assume they have a way back. If humanity has spread that far – what did this thing call it? The Federation of Planets? - then there are whole worlds of humans out there instead of just one planet. Logically, that means they can go and con somebody else._

 _I should feel lousy about that. Actually, I_ do _feel lousy about it. No man should push their problems onto others because they're unable – or unwilling – to face them. But if I don't the future - our future - won't happen._

 _Damned if you do; damned if you don't…_

A long, drawn out hiss of frustration escaped the human's throat as he considered the alternatives. All of them never made it off the mental drawing board.

 _How the hell do you convince a con artist to go back to the future?_ he wondered, frustrated with his inability to see the solution.

Hogan racked his brain as he tried to come up with a suitable answer to the impossible question. Just then a taste of sour bile foamed in his mouth as a long-buried option came to mind.

 _Dear God,_ he shuddered involuntarily. _That would be worse than the cure..._

* * *

Some time later General Hogan exited the ship in a depressed frame of mind. For the third time in his life he felt a sense of utter _disgust_ in being a man. Some of his sex, knowing what he knew, would use the knowledge he held without moral reservation.

 _And if the rest of the Ferengi are like Quark..._ A twisted grimace lit his lips as he beckoned his aide to follow him back to the empty office.

 _Can I live with it though?_ He sighed, already knowing the answer.

 _I'm going to hell._

His stomach twisted briefly at the unsettling thought before he briefed Kinch on his findings. The tablet, once explained, was merely the icing on the cake. Through it all his aide's face blanched slightly but otherwise showed no reaction until Hogan finished detailing his ultimate plan.

"You're serious..." he muttered softly in disbelief. A trusted friend, he knew exactly what Hogan planned to use.

And it frightened him.

It was only by accident that he came into possession of ' _The Knowledge_ ' as he darkly called it. That night was forever burned into his memory in searing detail...

* * *

 **Germany**  
 **September 18th, 1943**

"Kinch..." Colonel Hogan mumured.

The black sergeant turned away from the lock on the steel door and hurried down the wooden stairs. His lockpicking skills were nowhere near Peter's level but he was getting better by the day. Given time, he'd be able to open the lock.

The Colonel didn't have that luxury.

The makeshift pressure bandage on the officer's side was already soaked with more blood than Kinch ever wanted to see in any lifetime. The Senior POW's pale skin, contrasting sharply with the dark floor of the basement, reminded him of his Uncle Morris' off-color Panama hat.

 _He's going to die_ , James realized, even though he refused to believe it.

 _It wasn't enough for the Colonel to just simply die_ , he angrily thought. No, he had to suffer first.

The traitor wanted it that way.

"We'll get out of here, Colonel," he promised, though he felt like a damned liar for saying so. "Just hang on." He was about to say more when the Colonel stopped him.

"No, Kinch..." Hogan shook his head, the truth evident in his eyes. He laid a weak, blood-stained hand on the other man's arm. "Leave me," he ordered, his firm voice reduced to a bare whisper. "Get out of here..."

"We both will, Colonel," the enlisted man said with more confidence that he truly felt. "Just hang on," he repeated. "I'll try the lock again."

At that moment Hogan used his remaining strength to grab onto the front of the other man's tunic before raising himself up slightly. "I trust you, Kinch," he gasped resolutely through pain filled eyes.

"I trust you..." the officer repeated, this time weakly.

At that moment his grip faded and he slumped back to the dirty floor. Words, barely audible, passed through Hogan's lips as he struggled to say something to his second-in-command. Kinch leaned down, trying to understand him…

…and it was at that moment _The Knowledge_ was passed onward. Before Kinch could fully comprehend the message - much less ask what it meant at all - the Colonel passed out.

At that moment the basement door opened with a dull metallic _thunk._

A series of confident footfalls sounded throughout the chamber as the traitor closed in on the helpless prey below. A gun, loosely held in one hand, remained on target even as the individual holding the weapon smiled.

"So, Papa Bear is dead...or almost so," the traitor remarked, catching the minute movement of the Colonel's laboring chest. "No matter. A fitting end to such an illustrious career, don't you think?" The figure's mocking Germanic laughter filled the small chamber.

"At least he'll die honorably," the American retorted, standing to defend his fallen boss. "That's more than I can say for you."

The figure looked nonplussed. "The fortunes of war are sometimes just that...collecting fortune. Not that I would expect a _schwarzer_ like you to understand such things." The weapon swiveled upward ever so slightly. Strangely, as he stared into the dark muzzle, Kinch felt an odd sense of calm permeate his frightened body. At that very moment he remembered the Colonel's message.

"Any last words?" The traitor pleasantly asked.

"Yeah," his would-be victim replied, feeling oddly silly despite the threat of imminent death. "I need you to ask me a question."

A raised eyebrow, accompanied by a bemused expression, greeted the unexpected statement. "Very well," his nemesis allowed. "And just what would you like me to say?"

Dutifully, and feeling somewhat foolish, Kinch repeated Hogan's final words.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

 **Back in 1947...**

Even now, just recalling the memory sent a chill through Kinch's heart.

 _The General survived,_ he reminded himself. _The traitor..._

He didn't want to think about that particular person's fate. Even now, it made him feel...a bit squeamish.

 _The resistance deals with their own…good or bad,_ James reminded himself. _Not you._

Slowly, he met Hogan's eyes.

"There's got to be something else we can try." His measured voice, much like his eyes, were almost pleading in intensity even as he realized there was no escape from the moral black hole that awaited them.

The senior officer sadly shook his head. "We're almost out of options," he said lamely before he waved his hand in a cutting motion. "Forget that. I don't think we had any to begin with." Hogan's depressed sigh echoed against the drab walls of the small office. "Quark's nothing more than a con artist but right now he has leverage. If I let the Pentagon know that he's conning us then we'll be ordered to seize the ship." Despite his best efforts he couldn't stop the parade of potential future devastation that marched through his mind.

"It's bad enough imagining what we can do with atom bombs," Hogan said softly. "It won't be too long before the Russians have their own. It'll be a standoff then." The older man paused, collecting his thoughts. "With larger versions of those phasers they showed us and more ships like these...well..." He took a deep breath before letting it out in one long _rush_. "I wouldn't put it past some of the people in our government to take care of the Russians. Permanently. That's not the future." He tapped the otherworldly pad laying on the table. "This future."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," his aide said. "It's just…" A faint, if not sad, grin suddenly appeared on the man's face moments before a deep chuckle rumbled outward into the room.

The General raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny, Kinch?"

"I thought I'd done it all at Stalag 13," James grinned, though his eyes showed otherwise. "Never thought I'd commit treason." He then held up a hand to forestall his boss' response.

"You're right," he said simply. He picked up the tablet and started thumbing through the golden pages once more.

"Funny, isn't it?" he queried rhetorically. "Doing all this for a future we'll never see?" He quirked his lips as another entry intrigued his curiosity. "Martin Luther King speech, 1963," he muttered quietly, his eyes drinking in the golden text. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Martin Luther King?" Hogan parroted. "Don't think I've heard of him."

"Neither have I," the other man replied before he handed the tablet back. "But we all will."

The senior officer studied the face on the screen for a brief moment before he keyed one of the small squares beneath the text. Suddenly, a man's powerful voice enveloped the small room:

 _...I have a dream...one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed...we hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal..._

"One thing's for sure," the General, now deeply thoughtful, murmured as he turned the video off. "If the future gets any brighter we'll all have to wear sunglasses." Both men chuckled before Robert's voice turned grave. "That is, if we can get rid of our Ferengi friends."

Kinch, in the same frame of mind, nodded soberly before a sour look entered his eyes. "I still don't trust those Ferengi," he said forcefully. "What if…what if _it_ gets out?" The thought of what his boss was proposing as a solution to their problem was reprehensible to his mind. That wasn't to say that he didn't agree with the overall plan Hogan had in mind if events played their course.

 _But if everything goes wrong…_

The General laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "They won't get it," he promised firmly. "And if we're lucky we'll teach Quark a lesson he'll never forget."

* * *

 _A/N: I couldn't help but give Kinch a life or death mission. The poor guy usually misses out on all the 'fun'..._


	6. Boxing Match

**_Hogan vs. Quark  
by 80sarcades_**

* * *

 _Welcome back! Quark has only two lusts in life...namely, money and women...and not necessarily in that order. Would you like to guess which one General Hogan will use?_

* * *

If Quark was annoyed about being kept waiting it didn't show. Instead, he greeted his American hosts with a friendly smile that would do credit to the best of fishing lures.

General Hogan, professional to the uniform, merely nodded impassively as he took his seat and faced the Ferengi merchant. Idly, he pictured the alien flying backward from a one-two punch before he returned to business.

"I trust your time away was…profitable?" Quark asked, still in his seemingly pleasant mood.

"You might say that," Robert nebulously replied, the discovery of the electronic book still at the forefront of his mind. "You know, I never expected to be negotiating with aliens," he casually commented. "I guess it's like meeting a beautiful woman for the first time."

The alien, curious, cocked his head. "How so?"

"Think about it," he continued. "The first time, you know nothing about her. Just that she's beautiful. If you're lucky, you'll have a guide that will explain everything. Given time…"

He let the sentence trail off. As expected, lecherous grins covered the faces of all three Ferengi. It was enough to make Hogan shudder in disgust though he was careful to maintain an outward calm.

 _I've known some skirt chasers in my time. If not worse. But these guys..._

 _How do women put up with this?_

It was a disquieting thought.

"I understand completely," Quark smoothly replied, the true meaning of the General's statement sliding over his head. "Negotiations, in a sense, are like females: they can be unruly and temperamental even at the best of times. On the other hand, consummating the perfect deal can be quite…satisfying…on so many different levels." He leaned back and smiled toothily once more. "One of my most difficult negotiations was with the Vulcans," he went on. "Their deal required extraordinary patience ..."

 _…and Hogan closes in to deliver a brilliantly timed cross to Quark's jaw! The Ferengi tries to evade but can't stop the famed Hogan Hammers (tm) as they crash into what's left of his puny body while the Galloping General goes in for the kill! Oh, the humanity!_

 _Now they're being separated...Quark looks unsteady, but he's up...and it looks like the referee is being distracted by a redhead in the front row! And Hogan's noticed! He's moved in to deliver several highly illegal and wholly satisfying blows to the alien's midsection! The crowd is on its feet, waiting for the knockout punch..._

 _...and here it comes..._

 _BAM! A straight punch and Quark is down for the count! The referee's got the redhead's phone number and he's back to make it all official..._

 _...and the Galloping General wins by knockout in the second round! This inner boxing monologue is brought to you by Eat At Joe's, America's premier dining destination..._

Hogan shook off the pleasant radio daydream as Quark wrapped up his self serving explanation. The gleam in the Ferengi's eyes dimmed somewhat when he saw the almost feral grin on the General's lips.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later...

"No," Quark said flatly in exasperation.

"Comes with a scepter, too," General Hogan pointed out. "I really doubt the King would miss it."

"What would I do with one of those? Or the rest of the Crown Jewels?" the Ferengi sneered. "If I wanted diamonds I would replicate them. Anything else?"

"How about the Yankees?" The American asked. "Nothing like having your own baseball team."

The alien's scrowl only deepened. "Would I have to pay them?"

"Yes."

"Pass," the Ferengi spat. "Try again."

"We also have the Rockettes," the General casually threw out. "They're something to see on stage."

"No more sports teams!" Quark emphatically declared. Nog, seizing the moment, leaned over and whispered into his Uncle's ear. The look on irritation on the older Ferengi's face was replaced by sudden interest.

"We might accept these Rockettes as partial payment," he allowed graciously. "Provided that you're willing to transfer the ownership of the current female lineup to the Ferengi Alliance."

"No deal," Hogan said immediately.

Quark threw up his hands before sagging in his seat. "Honestly, I've never understood you humans!" he complained. "They're just females! It's not like they would amount to anything important anyway!"

"Maybe it's because I remember the phrase "To Each Their Own," Hogan countered, thinking of some of the resistance women he had worked with during the war.

 _They were pretty damned smart. Not to mention brave. The Gestapo wouldn't have played favorites, either. Some of the Krauts would have used any and all means if they thought they had a chance to bring the resistance down._

 _In my book, if you knew that fact and you still jumped into the fire...well, you had guts. Which leads to another question: if we have women like that now...then I wonder what the ones in the future are like?_

 _Kinch was right. I am fighting for a future I'll never see. But no con man is going to change it._

 _Not on my watch._

"And just what does that mean?" Quark queried, confused.

"Everyone has a opinion," the human observed quietly. "It just takes time to realize what it can become."

"Perhaps he has a point, brother," Rom piped in. "Grand Nagus Gruik said it best: The currents of profit flow truly to the sighted blind."

His older sibling turned and gaped at him. After a moment, he found his voice.

"I'm impressed!" he said, his tone sincere, shocked and surprised at the same time. "You actually read the book!"

 _"Grand Masters, Grand Naguses: The Collected Wisdom_ _Of_ _Profit_ ," Rom said happily, pleased to receive a compliment for once.

"Then you'll also remember," Quark said, his voice suddenly turning hard, "that Gruik was removed from being Grand Nagus for going insane. He was actually _giving_ his money to the poor instead of charging them to be in his presence!"

"Oh...uh..." Rom stuttered, his face turning a deeper shade of orange. "I forgot that part."

"But the point is valid!" Nog broke in, clearly annoyed at seeing his father being cut down by Quark again. "Grand Nagus Gruik may have been insane, but his words are-"

"-irrelevant, as far as I'm concerned," Quark snapped, shutting his younger nephew up before he turned to the American General. "My apologies," he said formally before he stared each of his blood relatives down with a quick glare of death. "So," he brightened visibly, "I'm sure you have more items of value to offer?"

Hogan almost had the impression the Ferengi, by that very statement, was laughing at him. He mentally smiled.

 _Joke's_ _on_ _you, pal._

"A private island in the Pacific," The General tossed out. "Complete with your own luxury resort. Not to mention all the booze and white beaches you can handle."

Oddly, it was easy for the American to picture the alien, clad in a white suit, standing on a beach greeting guests. _It's a nice setup if they go for it,_ he mused, even though he knew they wouldn't. _Quark can play the host, Rom could run the bar - he doesn't look like a drinker, anyway - and the kid can do the grunt work._ He resisted a smile as the unbidden image of Nog pointing at the sky and yelling ' _The_ _plane! The_ _plane!'_ played in his mind.

 _Well, it was worth a shot!_

The newcomer leaned forward, intrigued. "Interesting," he nodded. "I assume that this resort will be stocked with the females of our choice?"

"Only if they stay voluntarily," the human immediately replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The negotiator shook his head, rejecting the offer.

"Pity," the Ferengi observed candidly, if not hopefully. "If you were to guarantee their permanent employment I'm sure we could arrange something." The counteroffer was met with a stony silence that filled the room

 _Maybe I should have thrown in the hula girls,_ the General inwardly joked more to relieve his depressed mood than anything else. Grimly, he silently acknowledged that his final options - not that he really had any to begin with - had finally dwindled to just one.

Robert quietly sighed before he locked eyes with the deceptive alien. His jaw unconsciously tightened slightly as he considered what he was about to say.

"What about information?" he finally offered, his voice low and deep.

Quark cocked his head curiously. "What kind of information?" he asked, his interest piqued. He didn't claim – and never sought to be - an expert on human behavior. However, there was something behind the native's tone that indicated a certain amount of reluctance. That was enough to catch his attention.

"Forgive me for saying so," he said carefully, the rules of navigating the treacherous river of profit at the forefront of his mind, "but given your…shall we say, your technological level…I doubt any information you have would be that…interesting."

"Then I guess you'll pass on the opportunity?" Hogan calmly retorted, keeping his gaze level even as he leaned back in his chair. Quark inwardly smiled, pleased that his hunch was right after all.

 _Maybe I was wrong about this human after all,_ he thought _._

He then momentarily grimaced as a grinning image of Captain Benjamin Sisko passed through his mind's eye. _There is a lesson in that,_ he reminded himself. _Not all hu-mons are dumb._

"I'd be willing to hear whatever you have to say," he said reasonably, if not politely. The General stared him down for a brief moment before he nodded slightly. With a smooth movement the human stood up and walked to the door. It wasn't immediately evident what he said to the guard but the result, in the now-familiar form of the nurse, was most...gratifying, if not stimulating.

Rom and Nog, not unsurprisingly, immediately forgot where their brains were.

Quark unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation as his leering eyes roamed over the alluringly covered form.

 _Very interesting, indeed!_ At that moment he kicked himself and returned to reality.

Obviously, the human was trying to distract them with the female somehow. And, judging by his idiot relatives, it was working.

 _But not on me!_

Strangely, the wave of anger dissipated quickly before being replaced by admiration. _Yes, I was wrong,_ he allowed, surprising himself. _Hogan may be human but he hasn't been corrupted by Federation morality. This is the age of Wall Street,_ he suddenly remembered, an almost reverential awe washing over him as he recalled the pinnacle of human capitalism.

 _General Hogan is a worthy adversary,_ he allowed. _If it weren't for his silly ideas that females mattered in anything he would be almost..._

. _..Ferengi._

 _Oh, how far the Federation has fallen!_

"What did you have in mind?" Quark calmly asked, keeping his voice firm and expression neutral. The human General merely flashed a small smile in return and looked at the new arrival.

"I need you to do me a favor," he asked, an odd tinge to his voice. "Ask me a question."

Lieutenant Faith Garland cocked her head in puzzlement but complied. "What would you like me to ask, General?" she inquired politely. Robert, for his part, couldn't look her in the eye.

 _May God forgive me._

"I need you to ask me the ultimate meaning to life, the universe and everything." The statement caused the three Ferengi to look at each other in utter confusion. Unknowingly, each had the same thought at the same moment:

 _Has the human lost his mind?_

A similar opinion, judging by the nurse's expression, also ricocheted in the eyes of the sole female in the room.

"Just do it, Lieutenant," the General softly ordered. The nurse shrugged and obeyed.

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "What is the ultimate meaning to life, the universe and everything?" In response, Hogan leaned over and breathed an answer that none of the aliens could hear into the female's ear.

Instantly, as if thrown by a switch, the woman's demeanor instantly _changed_. A wild, lustful look suddenly inflamed Nurse Garland's eyes moments before she lunged forward and jolted the General into the nearby wall. The force of the impact of uniform against uniform had barely registered in the senior officer's mind before the woman's red lips met his in a frenzied passionate kiss. Slender hands, possessive and demanding, roamed firmly across his body -

\- and then, the officer broke away to whisper in her ear once more.

With that command the nurse returned to her normal self. Quark, his stunned eyes fixed on the scene before him, quickly noticed that the female seemed confused. _As if..._

"What was the question, sir?" she asked in puzzlement, her brain clearly trying to figure out how she appeared on the other side of the room.

 _...she had no memory of what just happened!_

"Never mind, lieutenant," General Hogan said formally. "You're dismissed."

The woman hesitated, then nodded before she slowly left the room. The grin Robert threw at the three astonished Ferengi failed to reach his cold brown eyes.

"So, what will that get me?" he deadpanned cheerfully.

Quark's jaw merely flopped up and down in reply.

* * *

 _A/N: Although not well known (and a deliberately buried family secret, at that) Quark has his mother's lobes for business. (We won't even mention that she's better at collecting latinum either, though it's against the law for her do to so...at the present time). Then again, the Ferengi is no dummy in recognizing what Hogan is able to do._

 _The bigger (and more horrifying) question is: will he be able to figure it out? The smart money, as usual, is on Hogan._


	7. From Bad To Worse

**_Hogan vs. Quark_**  
 ** _by 80sarcades_**

* * *

To his credit, the Ferengi quickly regained his business senses before he turning a sharp eye on the American officer.

"You're trying to trick us!" he indignantly accused. General Hogan merely shrugged.

"What you see is what you get," the human shot back. "Want another demonstration?" Without waiting for an answer he walked to the door and called for the guard.

"Find me a woman," he bluntly ordered. The corporal blinked at the unusual command.

"Um...yes sir," he hesitantly replied. "Did you want another nurse?"

"Doesn't matter who it is," Hogan supplied. "Anyone but Lieutenant Garland."

If the guard was confused he didn't show it. "Yes, sir," he crisply acknowledged before he quickly closed the door. General Hogan then looked at the three Ferengi me and restrained a grimace.

"Hopefully she's a blonde..." he muttered softly to himself.

* * *

As before, Hogan asked the civilian before him to repeat the question. Like her military counterpart she reacted in exactly the same way.

What the General _didn't_ expect was the possessive hand that gripped the instrument of his gender before stroking it to her own personal tune. Somehow, Hogan managed to tear himself from the liplock and whisper into the woman's ear before she sent the item in question from a B flat into a thundering crescendo.

"You called for me, General?" the woman asked the flustered General a moment later, seemingly unaware of her earlier lustful state.

"Uh, yes," Hogan stammered. "Could you bring us some water? I'll take a coffee. Black. You might see if there are any donuts, too."

"Yes, sir," she answered, although the look in her eyes said it all: _why didn't you just tell the guard to have me bring it instead of wasting my time?_

Hogan sighed, inwardly disgusted with himself.

 _I'm definitely going to hell, aren't I?_ He then turned back to his guests.

"Satisfied?" he asked. The Ferengi's eyes still seemed doubtful...but only just.

"So," he began, measuring his words carefully. "An interesting ability." He nodded thoughtfully. "How do I know it's not just limited to those females?"

"You don't," the general officer replied, his firm voice filling the air between them. "You just have to take my word for it."

"The word of a human," the alien being scoffed, seemingly unimpressed despite the demonstration of power. "In payment for technology, I should remind you, that would make you superior to those Russians of yours." At that moment he held up his hand. "My apologies," he said formally, "but I'm sure you can see that we would require something more...substantial...before entering into a contract."

Hogan chuckled darkly. "What's more substantial than having the woman of your dreams?" he challenged silkily, his smile unpleasantly tight. "That's the deal: your technology in exchange for what I can do." The American then unleashed a fiendish grin that Quark knew only too well.

The smile of a true Ferengi.

On a human.

Despite it all, he couldn't help but be... _excited_. The thrill of taking on a truly worthy opponent was an almost sensual feeling in and of itself.

 _As is the victory_.

"I should add," the human continued slowly, his voice ennubucating each word loud and clear, "that what I know can be taught. That is," he said, looking pointedly at his negotiating counterpart, "if you're up to the challenge of learning new things."

The stare between the two men was broken by a sharp knock on the door. Nog and Rom eyed the donuts warily before the teenager hesitantly tried one of the confections. To his surprise they proved tastier they they looked. For his part, Quark ignored the pastries and drinks while Hogan sipped at his coffee.

"Sure you don't want some?" He offered, holding up the mug. The chief negotiator merely shook his head.

"Could you give us a minute to talk?" his suddenly polite voice asked. The General took another leisurely draw of the hot liquid before he graciously acquiesced to the request. As he turned, his left hand made a gesture towards the mirror. Quark had just enough time to see a small stream of people filing out of the observation chamber before the door closed.

If one could believe it - and knowing humans and their word he could - they were truly alone.

 _Honesty,_ he marveled. _And your downfall, Hogan._

 _One of the keys to the vault of eternal destitution._ He shuddered momentarily at the thought of a gold-free Ferengi hell and turned his mind to more pleasant matters.

"Can you believe it?" the older being murmured admiringly. "That man is sitting on a treasure..."

"Tell me about it!" Rom exclaimed. "At least he has no problem getting dates!"

"No, you idiot!" Quark snarled. "I'm talking about the power he has over females! Think of the possibilities!"

"He can have _oo-mox_ any time he wants?"

His brother hung his head in his hands. "I'm surrounded by morons..." he muttered.

"You're thinking about using it to your advantage," Nog exclaimed.

"Finally!" Quark breathed, his tone suddenly pleased. "At least someone has lobes in this family." He threw a pointed glare toward his younger brother who wilted underneath his gaze.

"Like anything else, knowledge is latinum," the teenager continued. A grin cut across the older man's face.

"Rule of Acquisition 74," he said approvingly. "At least Starfleet hasn't taken all of the Frenengi out of you." His voice then changed tack as another memory came to the surface. "Nog. Didn't you say the humans had world wars?"

"Yes!" the younger man exclaimed, clearly pleased to be useful. "Three of them. If I remember correctly, they just went through their second war." He frowned in thought. "Or was it their first?"

"Three of them," Quark muttered disbelievingly, horror in his eyes. "No wonder they're crazy. It's a wonder they even survived to make their Federation much less into space." He snapped his fingers as an excited grin crossed his face. "That must be it!" he burst out. "It's the only thing that makes sense!"

"Oh, I don't know if I'm going to like this..." Rom groaned.

"Just shut up and listen!" the senior Ferengi snapped. "Have you ever wondered why the humans allowed their females to wear clothes?"

"Because they look so alluring with them on?"

"No!" Quark said, exasperated with his lobeless sibling. "Because they lost control of them! Don't you see?" He stood up and focused in on his revelation. "The males allowed their women to wear clothes and earn profit because they had a card up their sleeve! If the women got out of control..."

"...the men could turn them into their love slaves," Nog finished, finally cluing in to his Uncle's thoughts. "And they'd never know a thing!" The young man smirked and rubbed his hands in glee. "The possibilities for blackmail are endless!"

Quark began to pace around the room. "At some point the information was lost," he declared as the idea took firm root in his mind. "Maybe during one of their world wars. Whatever the case, they lost the ability to control their women." A dreamy look entered his eyes as a vision of a golden future - his future, specifically - revealed itself in his lecherous mind. "And if it works on human women, who knows whom it may work on."

"You'd have a whole new business," Rom followed, a smile of understanding dawning on his happy face. "But what about the bar?"

"The bar," Quark scoffed, waving his hand. "Who cares about the bar? You can have it." He brushed away his brother's profuse thanks as he looked into the mists of time once more. "I can see it now," he exclaimed excitedly. "Deep Space Nine: The Pleasure Nexus of the Alpha Quadrant."

"Quarks," breathed Nog, carried away on a mental river of gold. "The galaxy's supplier of quality females."

"Pimps of the Universe," Rom blurted.

Quark and Nog, their bubbles broken, turned to stare at their blood relative. Rom, surprisingly, was unfazed at the pointed glares.

"Well," he wheedled. "It's true..." The older Ferengi sighed in exasperation.

"Remind me to cut your share of the profits," Quark growled. "Now, where's Hogan?"

* * *

To the bar owner's exasperation General Hogan called for a break until late afternoon before resuming the talks. Still, he had to admire the human for the tactic.

Patience, after all, was one of the keys of profit. He frowned at the human-style lunch that was laid before them.

 _The things you do to earn latinum_...

Surprising him still further, the American also announced that the observation room would be cleared before the negotiations continued. This provoked a furiously quiet debate amongst the humans but in the end the senior officer had the last word. The colored aide, acting as a silent witness, would sit in one corner. This didn't bother the alien in the least.

 _Human vs. Ferengi_ , he grinned inwardly, savoring the challenge.

 _May the better Ferengi win._

"I'm willing to seriously consider your offer," Quark announced in a pleasant voice. "However, I would like another demonstration of your...ability." He cocked his head and let his seemingly friendly eyes settle into those of his opponent. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

Hogan shrugged. "All right," he conceded before he stood up and walked to the door. The enlisted guard from earlier snapped to attention. Oddly, there was something off about his demeanor that the General couldn't place.

"Can you find another woman for me?" he politely asked. "She..." His voice trailed off when he saw the enlisted man's gaze suddenly drop to the floor. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Well...sir...," the man stammered, "It's like this. The nurses are all holed up in the infirmary. They've barricaded the door."

Hogan blinked. "Say that again?" his puzzled voice asked.

"It's true, sir," the man went on, reluctantly spilling the beans to the General's narrowed eyes. "I heard it while we were at break. Some of the officers watching through the mirror-" he motioned to the room,"-kinda let slip how Lieutenant Garland got after you. Made it seem like, well, you were a God or something." Despite his nervousness, there was unabashed admiration in the corporal's voice. "Those nurses won't come out until you're off the base," he explained. "General Hammond said he'd court-martial them, sir, but they told him to go to hell." The enlisted guard blushed. "Sorry, sir."

"So try someone else. Civilians. Anyone," General Hogan ordered, switching gears. The guard shook his head.

"Afraid not, General," the man drawled. "That civilian woman that was here earlier got together with the lieutenant and compared notes. From what I heard they're all going to file a lawsuit against you. Something called sexual harassment or some such." The young man clearly found the whole idea clearly ludicrous.

Hogan sighed. "Tell General Hammond to report to the conference room," he directed. The corporal, grateful that he wasn't the one in trouble, hurried off even as the senior general inwardly cursed his peer for keeping him in the dark.

 _This is not good,_ he thought forebodingly.

And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

* * *

To Hogan's dismay, the news of his 'gift' had spread far and wide. The male population treated him with a mixture of outright awe and envy for his divine abilities. The women, on the other hand…

 _Where the hell did they all go?_

With several exceptions – namely, the nurses – all of the women on the airfield had vanished into thin air. It was as if Roswell was the ground zero of a female-free Bermuda Triangle. The only woman to be found anywhere within a three mile radius of the base was a soon-to-be-retired civilian payroll clerk who enthusiastically volunteered to serve her country. Reluctantly – and it was only because he doubted Quark would buy it – he turned the generous offer down and was genuinely ashamed at seeing the crestfallen disappointment on her worn face.

 _Yep_ , he inwardly grimaced at the shame that filled his soul.

 _I'm going to hell_.

Fortunately, Captain Kinchloe's efforts at sniffing out the fairer sex paid off. Several of the enlisted men on his detail located a company from the Women's Army Corps that were temporarily billeted at nearby Fort Palmer. Kinch's request for a volunteer was met with a pointed and decidedly unladylike reply from their commanding officer.

All of the skullduggery left a bad taste in the general officer's mouth.

 _Maybe the women_ _should fight the wars_ , Hogan reflected ruefully. _They have a better intelligence network_ _than_ _we ever did. If anything, World War II would have ended five years ago!_

However, the WAC company commander did agree to come only if she could bring her charges with her. General Hogan quickly assented and soon found himself standing outside the headquarters building in front of a company of smartly dressed - and highly nervous - women standing in perfect ranks. The aliens, under guard, watched them from a second floor room on one end of the drab structure.

Captain Melinda Carswell, the company commander, neatly saluted the general officer before her. Rom, puzzled, asked why the woman raised her hand as she did.

"How should I know?" Quark grumbled in annoyance. "Hu-mons and their customs..."

"...reporting as ordered, SIR," the no-nonsense woman barked. General Hogan was impressed with the leathery-faced woman.

 _In another life she would have made a good_ _DI_. _Or, for that_ _matter, a Marine!_

"Thank you for coming, Captain," Hogan said crisply if not politely. "As I said earlier, this is important. I don't have to tell you that national security issues are involved..."

If he didn't know better the General would have sworn he heard a soft feminine _snicker_ floating on the desert wind. Hogan ignored it.

"...but it might work out better if we could do this inside. Privately," he emphasized.

"With all due respect, sir, I've heard the stories," the captain shot back, unfazed. "I don't know what this is about but you can do it right here and now. Sir." She added lamely, though unrepentantly.

Hogan reluctantly nodded. "Your funeral," he muttered before he stepped forward. To his relief the iron woman didn't flinch at his close-in presence.

 _I already_ _feel dirty enough..._

"I need you to ask me the following question," he said formally. "What is the ultimate meaning of life, the universe and everything?"

"Sir?" Captain Carlswell asked, her face genuinely puzzled at the odd request.

"Just do it," the General ordered tiredly.

"All right," she growled, clearly resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "What is the ultimate meaning of life, the universe and everything?"

In response the senior officer leaned forward and spoke into her ear. As expected, the woman before him leaped at him and started to kiss his lips with wild abandon. What Hogan didn't expect was that the question, followed by the answer - although the Ferengi still had no idea what it was - had drifted on the soft desert breeze before being absorbed by waiting feminine ears.

Despite the frantic liplock General Hogan managed to look up in time to catch the hot looks the company of women shot his way. With a burst of strength he managed to tear himself away from the captain and instantly summed up the situation with one succinctly brief phrase:

 _I'm screwed!_

If he yelled out the antidote it was a sure bet that the men standing by the building - not to mention the Ferengi above - would hear the words. On the other hand he couldn't stay where he was without being mowed down.

That left door number three.

With surprising grace, and fueled by a sudden jolt of healthy fear, the General whirled around and started running for the safety of the building. He stumbled but managed to keep himself upright as a portion of his tunic ripped away into the clutches of the now-pursuing Captain.

 _Heels! They're wearing heels!_ A small and desperate part _of_ Hogan's brain thought _. How the hell do you run in heels?!_

Meanwhile, the younger group of women, pursuing close behind, threatened to overtake them both...

...until the older female officer wheeled around and yelled '"ATTEN-HUT!" Bodies, conditioned by military training, reacted to the command and stopped in place before snapping to attention...

...before the lady captain wheeled around and squarely set her sights on the running-flat-out General . Screaming, she plunged forward...

...and was quickly followed by a _roar_ of utter rage a few seconds later as the other women, realizing they had been tricked, raced after the speeding pair. The male personnel standing nearby, shocked into silence by the sight of a group of women running after a general officer finally, if not belatedly, realized they were about to be overrun.

The mad scramble that resulted, followed by Hogan's desperate ' _Hail Mary_ ' baseball slide, was just enough to shut the door seconds moments before the lust-filled female wave crashed against the metal plate. All of the men looked in awe - if not outright divine reverence - at the sweaty and disheveled General. Hogan, for his part, was too busy trying to catch his breath and remember he was alive.

And above it all, Quark flashed an evil smile at the females below even as his hands twisted in glee.

 _The Federation won't know what hit them!_

* * *

 _A/N: Factoid: Men were wearing high heels long before women. True story. It used to be a fashion statement for European nobility to wear heels in order to (a) look taller and (b) keep their feet out of the street (Remember, sanitation hadn't come into vogue yet and there was no telling what you might find on a city street). The French Revolution, along with its guillotine, convinced people that towering over the common folk might bring you down to Earth...permanently. Heels eventually made a comeback as a lady's accessory and have been with us ever since._

 _The term 'sexual harassment' wasn't coined till the 1970's although the despicable behavior itself has always existed. The recent events only serve as proof. Traditionally, harassment (whether direct or indirect) has been thought of as a one way street although it can go both directions. Some examples from my own life:_

 _(a) One of my first jobs was in a gas station run by an all-female crew. (I was the token guy stocking and doing the dirty jobs...lol.) I never really noticed anything different that first week until I went to the bathroom. I washed my hands, turned around...and there, on the top third of the door, were magazine cutouts of oiled hunks staring back at me. At the time I just laughed it off since the ladies (at the time they were in their mid-50's to late 60's) had as much chance of meeting one of these individuals as I would have meeting a female supermodel now...or any model._

 _(b) A few years ago (at my old workplace) one of the college-age cashiers started flirting with me. Now I'm not handsome...and even my ego honestly admits it...so I just shrugged it off and made it known that I wasn't interested. That only ramped her up to the unmemorable day where she told me about her sexual fantasies (with the obvious inference that I could turn it into reality). I had to get my boss' help at that point to fix the situation._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	8. The Beginning

_**Hogan vs. Quark**_  
 _ **by 80sarcades**_

* * *

 _Welcome!_

* * *

The men in the building, their known worlds shaken, watched silently as the women climbed back into their trucks before driving off. All of them, though none would admit it, were a bit fearful at what the senior officer had unleashed.

General Hogan, now recovered, ordered Captain Kinchloe to follow the AWOL group. Unfortunately - if not expectedly - General Hammond immediately detailed some of the nearby enlisted men - and one slightly pudgy lieutenant, all of them white - to follow the Captain. The two-star officer cringed as he saw the resigned anger in his aide's eyes moments before the two men shared an invisible look that communicated volumes.

Inwardly, Hogan both cursed and envied the future. What the hell does it matter that Kinch is colored? he angrily thought yet again. Yet even he had to recognize the brutal truth of reality: sending a Negro to hunt down a company of renegade white women - _no matter that he's an officer and gentleman in the United States Army Air Force!_ \- would be...problematic, to say the least.

 _I can only hope Kinch will get lucky..._

The poor choice of words gave the General pause. Irritated, he restarted the thought.

 _If he's lucky,_ he began again _, he'll be able to track down the WACS. If he's fortunate, he'll be able to give them the antidote. If, if if..._

 _And it will be a miracle if everything returns to normal!_

The problem he didn't have to fix - and which didn't surprise him in the very least - was Quark's determined willingness to negotiate for the secret the American held. Hogan purposely kept him at arms length even as the Ferengi repeatedly demanded the human representative's presence.

Eventually - and with a certain amount of reluctance - General Hogan returned to the negotiations. Quark, looking self-important, was all smiles as he welcomed the return of his new 'friend'. There was also an air of something else surrounding the older Ferengi that was familiar yet almost indefinable-

 _He's horny!_

The sudden bolt from the blue struck Hogan so suddenly that only his practiced control kept him from laughing outright. Instead, he coughed slightly and restrained the urge to smile as another thought occurred to him.

 _I wonder if you can fix Ferengi?_

"I'm convinced," Quark said bluntly, unaware of the General's mental escapades. "Shall we get down to business?"

* * *

What followed next wasn't a surprise. The alien - a smooth horse trader by any measure of the word - literally promised several moons and the latest in top-of-the-line Ferengi technology in exchange for the information the General held. The thirsty desperation reflected in the three sets of beady eyes made him want to throw up. As it was, it was all he could do to last for thirty minutes before calling for a break.

 _No morals. No rules. To them, if you're a man then you're a man. If you're a woman..._

 _It all comes down to sex, doesn't it?_

Hogan shook his head in disgust.

 _You know, I've known a lot of women. Oddly enough I met a number of them in prison camp. No one believes me when I say that but it's true._

 _Have I ever taken advantage of a woman? Honestly, yes. In wartime I admit to playing hard and fast with the rules to get what I needed. Was it reprehensible at times? Yes. Do I regret it? Yes...and no. I'll goi further and say there were times I should have kept my zipper shut!_

 _Even so, I did all of that on my own. It would have been easy to justify using the words as a weapon of war. Kinch, after all, used it to save our lives. But I didn't._

 _I wonder if that will be enough to save my soul?_ He internally snorted _._

 _Still, there were benefits to being honest. There was even that one time that I was 'thanked' personally. *XXXXXXX_ He smiled at the now-distant memory.

 _The one good thing I can say - or hope I can say, anyway - is that I never crossed the line to willingly force myself on a woman. These guys, however..._

Whatever their motives the thought of the _The Knowledge_ , as Kinch termed it, getting out made him sick.

 _I don't know if it will work on aliens. For that matter I'm surprised that it even works at all. Mr. Jacobs was already dying when he passed the secret along. To be honest, I really don't remember much about that day at all._

* * *

 _July 6, 1922_  
 _Indianapolis, Indiana_

"You're a good man, Mr. Hogan," Mr. Jacobs murmured before he took another drink from the glass Robert held out. "Not many people would take care of an old man. Especially one as old as me." At that moment the older man coughed heavily before he leaned back, exhausted, into the sagging pillow.

"I can still go and get Doctor Haskins," eighteen year old Robert Hogan offered, worry etched on his young face." The old man waved him off.

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "Witch doctors and their treatments won't do much for me. Not now, anyway." He coughed again, the sound filling the small apartment. "When it's your time, it's your time. You should remember that."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, though he sounded dubious.

"Another thing I've always liked about you: you're polite. Honorable to a fault, too." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "You could have taken advantage of that pretty lady the other night," he said, his eyebrows raised.

"Didn't seem right," Robert said, shaking his head. "I mean...I've heard about it a lot from the other guys. "All about it." He paused, his cheeks blushing red. "I really wanted to do it, but..." Suddenly, his eyes dawned with realization. "How did you know?" He demanded. "I didn't say anything. And I know she didn't."

"You didn't have to," the older man calmly replied before a fresh wave of hacking filled the air. "I knew it the same way I know you full name is Robert Edwardius Hogan." He tapped the side of his head while Robert leaned back, shocked.

"Now you're wondering how I knew what your middle name was," Jacobs continued, reading Hogan's mind. "You've always been embarrassed by it. Frankly I don't see why; it reminds me of one of those old English Kings." He gave the young man a small smile. "I've been waiting for you for a long time," Jacobs said. "Almost too long."

Robert Hogan merely stared at the old man before he found his voice. "Who are you, mister?" He finally asked.

The old man flashed him a toothy grin. "That's what I like about you, kid: you're quick on the uptake." Suddenly, his body stiffened and he gasped as a wave of pain coursed through his nerve endings. He halfheartedly waved off Hogan's attempts to help.

"Nothing you can do, son," he mumured, gritting his teeth. "Just past my time, that's all. Like I said, I've been waiting for you."

"Why would you wait for me?" Robert asked, perplexed. "I mean...I'm just a kid."

"No," the other man said, shaking his head. "You're more than that. You're a nexus." He paused. "You asked me who I was. You might say that I'm...an alien."

"You're from another country?"

A dry laugh preceded a brief coughing spell. "Not exactly." He then held up his hand. Before Hogan's shocked gaze the hand slowly disappeared into a mass of swirling white light. The glow that filled the bedroom lasted only a few seconds before the familiar gnarled fingers and hand reappeared.

"An alien not of this world. Specifically, I'm from another galaxy," the man calmly imparted. "You wouldn't be able to pronounce the name of my people. Not with a human tongue, anyway."

Robert stayed motionless, his eyes still on the now-normal hand.

"That's good," Jacobs soothed. "You're thinking, instead of running. Like I said, you're more than you know."

"How...why..." the boy stuttered, unsure what to believe. The alien leaned over and weakly patted the human on the arm. To his credit, Hogan didn't flinch.

"We came here from another galaxy," Jacobs repeated dully. "Many, many of your years ago. Several thousand, as you measure time."

"God almighty," Hogan muttered, a feeling of disbelief warring with what he had just witnessed.

"To a degree we have moved beyond the need of physical bodies...for the most part," the man clarified. "Our people are not true beings of energy. Hence, even we must pass on."

"So you could look like humans...or anyone else," the real human clarified. The old man merely nodded in reply.

"Our society, once powerful, covered our home galaxy before it fell into stagnation. War decimated what remained." Jacobs leaned back against his pillow as he recounted the past. "Four of us escaped to start anew in a place that had never heard of us. This place." The alien waved his hand. "The ironic par was that we had never intended to settle here. However, humanity interested us."

"Why?" Robert asked, his earlier fear replaced by curiosity.

"My species has the ability to see time. The future, as well as the past." He coughed several times before he gratefully accepted the glass of water the young man offered him. "Humanity is capable of great cruelty yet at the same time you show the most remarkable compassion," the being said, sipping the water again. "The two halves make the whole yet, as you may imagine, cannot sustain itself indefinitely. It will lead to your race's downfall."

Hogan, his face white, did not utter a sound.

"However, that does not end the story," Jacobs explained. "Humanity, unlike my race, will flourish into something most remarkable. It will grow, prosper, expand...and, most importantly, be devoted to learning." He smiled knowingly. "One day, the children you cannot see will be greater than we ever were. Even, dare I say it, beyond the Q."

"Who?"

A dry snort emanated from the old man's throat. "Him as well," he said, much to Hogan's confusion. "But that doesn't answer why you are important. The Ruthari, indirectly, are to blame for that."

"I'm afraid to ask who they are," Robert confessed, a bit embarrassed despite himself.

"A parasitic race of beings from another part of this galaxy," the alien explained. "Their scout ships arrived on your world during the demise of the Roman Empire."

The new revelation coming on top of the earlier declaration, rocked the teenager. For an instant he felt utterly small before he suddenly, with newfound strength, found his voice. "But if they've been here before..." he hesitantly squeaked.

"Then why are they not here now?" Jacobs finished. "A good question. The short story is that we were partially successful in defeating their attempts to subjugate your world. In doing so, my companions gave their lives."

"I'm sorry," Hogan whispered, not really sure what to say beyond that.

The alien waved a hand. "It was a worthwhile cause, to protect innocents," he murmured. "Unfortunately, the Ruthari were successful in altering the global genetic code before we were able to finally stop them." Jacobs paused when he observed the confusion on Robert's face. "You may think of it as a diagram for your body," he explained. "Everything that makes you, you. The cogs and wheels, if you will."

"And changing the diagram was...a really bad thing?" The young human asked.

"Yes." Jacobs paused before speaking again, his voice heavy. "In essence, the worlds of this quadrant were converted into a storehouse to supply future Ruthari conquests," he said before enduring a coughing spasm. He wet his lips with the glass and steadied his shaky hands.

"It was an insidious plan," the alien, his words heavy with labored breath, continued. "The population of each primitive world – and there were many infected in this part of space, as best as we could tell – would never realize the truth until it was too late. Say the right words to a member of your species, for example and they will become a savage beast fit for war. Say another, and that person will become a sexual slave – and quite willing, once triggered – ready to be sold to any one of a dozen races that trade in such things. In effect, it was a clever way for the Ruthari to have others fight their wars and finance their economies. All at the same time," he added.

Slowly, Hogan unclenched his white-knuckled fists as he mentally tried to suppress his suddenly nauseous stomach. "What happened to them?" he whispered, a small part of his youth dying as the remainder suddenly grew up.

"They are extinct," the old man said bluntly, no trace of sympathy in his suddenly cold voice. "They eventually violated one of the most cardinal rules in this galaxy: never, ever, provoke the Borg."

"Good," Robert simply observed, unsure of who or what the 'Borg' were but not sorry in the least.

"Unfortunately, their legacy lives on in the genes of this quadrant both human and not." Jacobs confessed. "I have tried over the years to remove the effects from your people but without my companions..." He let the sentence dangle. "I'm afraid, given the large numbers of humanity, it is too late in any case."

"So I could just go crazy at any time," the younger man said warily, disconcerted at the very thought.

"No," Jacobs said, shaking his head. "Only if the trigger phrases were used correctly. As I said, we had a partial victory." He smiled gently. "Your race has no need to fear." He tapped his head. "Remember, we can see the future to a degree."

"Ok," Hogan nodded, feeling slightly better...but only just. "So...what do I have to do with all this?"

The older alien smiled. "You already have. And will."

"What?"

At that moment Mr. Jacobs reached out with his fading powers moments before he snapped his fingers. Instantly, the teenager's alert eyes glazed over as he slumped back into the chair, unconscious.

Working quickly, the alien removed the recent conversation from the youngling's mind even as he placed a false memory where he and the boy discussed the mental triggers. When the boy awoke he would remember the new conversation but nothing of the old.

 _And that is the way life should be,_ the old man judged. _He will grow up soon enough_. _And when he does, he will defend his planet – and his future – as best as he knows how._ He snorted softly in amusement as the future image of three Ferengi filled his mind. _Ironic, isn't it?_ he mused before he looked at the boy again. _He's as devious as they are yet more moral than any of them..._

 _It will be enough._

"Thank you," he said simply, if not gratefully, to the unconscious teen before he looked upward. "I've done all I can…" he muttered before his eyelids slowly closed.

A white ball of swirling light drifted slowly upward from the physical remains of Mr. Jacobs moments before his body faded into nothingness.

* * *

 _A/N: if you have time, read **ColHogan's** wonderful story _ Newkirk's Embarrassing Moment _. Puts an interesting perspective on being thanked personally. Note: the story is for adults only._

 _From a male perspective I've observed misogyny/sexual harassment played out from time to time. There was the boss who wouldn't hire pregnant women. So what did I do? I hired one (she was honest and told me during the interview). Caught hell from my old-time boss but she turned out to be one of my better employees._

 _Then there was the boss who watched women come into the store and rated them on a scale of one to ten with various commentary along the way. Finally, there was another boss (like the other two, only in name) who would print out customer photos for his own use. This was a really big no-no and even more so since the women in the photos were in quite revealing (unclothed) poses. I turned him in and he was allowed to resign in lieu of being fired._

 _There are good guys out there who try to make a honest living. Unfortunately, the bad ones tar us with the same dirty brush. Quite depressing, actually._


	9. A Contract is a Contract is a

**_Hogan vs. Quark_**  
 ** _by 80sarcades_**

* * *

 _Welcome!_

* * *

 _I should have been awake when Mr. Jacobs died_ , an older (and somewhat wiser) Robert Hogan cursed inwardly for the millionth time. _Toward the end I thought he was a little crazy. Especially when he told me how to use The Knowledge._

 _To be honest, I really didn't think much of it. Not until I started dating Daphne. We were talking about Mr. Jacobs and, as a joke, I repeated what the old man told me._

He shuddered at what happened next.

 _For an eighteen year old kid it was the stuff of dreams. She had no idea what she was doing. None at all. If I hadn't come to my senses in time..._

 _I don't know if I could have lived with myself._

 _Don't get me wrong: I love women. However, whoever said that power corrupts was absolutely right. With that much power a man could do whatever he wanted to any woman he wanted and get away with it. Which is why I rarely used it and then only when I had no other choice. Kinch knows, but he's the type of man that will take the secret to his grave._

 _I only hope I'll have the same opportunity._

His mind then changed tack.

 _A bigger question,_ he wondered: _will God forgive me? he wondered. I don't know if the ladies ever will._

 _And maybe they shouldn't._

Lost in his thoughts, Hogan was startled to find himself in front of the Ferengi ship. The ramp, inviting and dangerous, lay before his gaze.

 _I guess it wouldn't hurt to take another look,_ he decided. With that, he walked up into the alien craft.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, General Hogan left the ship and returned to the meeting. Before entering the room he asked the guard to bring some snacks and drinks from the officer's mess. He then reluctantly took his place at the wood table.

Quark, as expected, was in a jovial - and, to Hogan's eyes, delightfully sickening -mood.

 _You know, I remember dealing with the Russians after the war,_ the former POW thought. _They were bullheaded, stubborn, suspicious, paranoid and generally untrustworthy from Uncle Joe on down._

 _God, how I miss them!_

He then shook off the pleasant memory and turned back to his alien guest.

 _Let's see if I can pop his balloon._

A tray of refreshments was quickly brought into the room. The teenager, living up to his youth, immediately tore into the donuts much to the General's amusement and Quark's consternation.

"What?" Nog said innocently, for once not cringing in fear. Several flakes of white glaze clung to his lips before his tongue greedily lapped the sugary bits up. "I'm hungry," he announced.

"Rom..." the older alien growled, the unspoken _'discipline your son'_ message hanging heavy in the air.

"Well..." His brother grabbed one of the confections and took a bite before grinning ear to ear. "They are tasty..."

Quark merely huffed in frustration. Conscious of the human's presence he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he patiently waited until they were alone.

 _He's going into the windup..._

"After thinking about it, I've decided to agree to your generous terms..." The American began.

Quark's smile, toothy and cheerful, signaled imminent victory..

"...with one additional condition."

The alien's eyes narrowed.

"And that would be...?" he asked.

"Nothing serious," the General said, his tone politely conversational as he steered a new negotiation course through the Ferengi rocks. "I was just thinking about how lucky you must be with women."

 _...and there goes the pitch..._

Instantly, Quark puffed up and straightened in his chair. "Well," he said modestly, if not magnanimously, "I have been known to...attract the pretty ones." The last words were said with a leering smirk.

Inwardly, Hogan restrained the urge to throw up at the thought of the Ferengi with any female.

 _Talk about drawing the short end of the stick!_

"And you would agree that a woman should serve her man in every way possible, correct?" the human casually continued, his neutral face covering his true emotions

"Of course" the bartender nodded, unsure where the line of conversation was going but clearly enjoying the pleasant train of thought. "It is a female's primary function, after all."

 _...and the batter swings..._

"Then that's the deal," the former POW announced to another puzzled look. "In exchange for my secret, the Ferengi Alliance will provide the United States with the technology you listed." He paused, savoring the moment. "However, I require a personal condition to the contract given that it is my knowledge being traded."

"And that is...?"

A touch of humor settled into Hogan's eyes before he leaned back into his chair and relaxed. "I want your mother to serve as my live-in maid," he announced. "And...more." He let the last word dangle suggestively in the suddenly still air.

For the second time in days a trifecta of alien jaws hit the floor

 _Steeerike One!_

"Are you crazy?" yelled Nog as he jumped up and slammed his fist on the table. A look of revulsion filled his eyes as he stared at the nearby human. "That is unacceptable! Even outrageous!"

"Shut up, Nog," Quark's voice growled warningly. Rom wasn't about to be shushed.

"But it's Moogie!" the Ferengi wailed. "You can't trade her off like she was property!"

"She _is_ property," the older alien pointedly countered. "Or have you forgotten the one hundredth and thirty ninth rule of acquisition: Wives serve, brothers inherit." A snort escaped his nostrils. "Not that you ever will..." he muttered.

"But she's not your wife!" Rom retorted. "She's Moogie!"

Quark merely shrugged. "What's the difference?" he casually retorted. "Anyone who's sane would see this as an extension of the rule. Or have you forgotten what we stand to gain?" He waved his hand dismissively. "I should also remind you of the sixth rule of acquisition: Never let family stand in the way of opportunity! If we need to trade Moogie to seal the deal then so be it"

"Moogie!" Rom cried out, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I want Moogie..."

"We won't agree to your terms," Nog said sharply as he attempted to stare the General down. "I suppose you want her to run around naked and chew up your food too!"

Hogan struggled mightily to keep a poker face at the nauseating prospect. "A maid's uniform will work, I think," he nodded. Oddly, he had a new appreciation for the teenager. Anyone that stood up for his grandmother couldn't be that bad.

"Done!" Quark exclaimed. "So we have a deal?"

"Moogie!" Rom wailed again, his face teary as he rocked back and forth in his chair.

"Oh, shut up!" his brother exclaimed, torn between the thrill of victory and the agony of being unable to smack his brother in the head.

"Deal," Hogan said quietly much to Quark's delight and his relatives consternation. Just then there was a knock at the door. Captain Kinchloe, his uniform tunic ripped in spots, stepped inside.

"General," he called out. "Can I see you for a minute?"

"Sure, Kinch." He glanced over at the alien trio. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Of course," Quark graciously agreed. This time, however, he leaped up from the desk and walked over to the door. Casting a glance at the one-way mirror he opened the door slightly and put his ear to the crack. As expected, Hogan had continued to honor his word: No one was in the hidden room watching the negotiations. He smirked inwardly.

 _Hu-mons were so predictable._

"...going on, Kinch?" Hogan asked.

"We're in trouble, General," the other man's voice rumbled. "Those WAC's are out of control. They're on their way here with tanks!"

"What!?" the General's deep voice softly boomed before he regained control. "Ok," he said reasonably, if not impatiently. "What happened?"

"The 20th Tank Battalion has some tanks just south of here," his aide explained. "Or should I say they _had_ some tanks. They were going to use them for an upcoming test." He didn't have to say what kind of test. Hogan knew. "Apparently, the nurses showed up and took them. Ran the crews off, too."

"The answer didn't work?" Hogan asked. Quark detected a real trace of worry in the human's tone.

"Earplugs," Kinch said, letting the other shoe drop. "They're wearing earplugs. Don't know where they got them but they can't hear a thing especially when those engines are fired up. I tried." He ran his hands down the ruined tunic. "They've really got it out for you, General," he went on. "Apparently they have a chart drawn up."

A sense of dread crept into the other man's tone. "Do I really want to know?" the two-star commented softly as the taste of bile crept into his throat. "Let me guess..."

"Yup," Kinch confirmed. "They're making a list of who will get to you first. And how many times." The officer grimaced. "The Captain has her name at the head of the list."

"Rank hath her privileges," Hogan joked weakly, his stomach flipping nauseated cartwheels. "What about the others that were with you?"

"It didn't go well," the aide sighed. "I couldn't tell the men what was really going on so they tried reasoning with the ladies." The Captain made a slightly sour face. "Well, let's just say the women objected to that idea. They might be WACs but they fight like Marines. The guys they left on the ground might walk again. Eventually."

"Great," the senior officer groused. "So what's the status?"

"Bad," Kinch said flatly. "At last report the WAC's were on their way back here in at least three tanks and some trucks. With loudspeakers blaring the Battle Hymn of the Republic, no less. They'll probably be here in about thirty minutes or so."

"Well, that tears it," the General muttered, thinking the problem through. He scratched a sudden itch on the back of his neck. "How the hell do we get them out of the tanks?" he asked rhetorically."

"I'd almost say let them run out of gas," Captain Kinchloe offered. "That is, if I wasn't convinced they bought a tanker truck with them."

"No," Hogan said, a tired, almost resigned look setting in. "Leave them to me," he ordered, his voice suddenly cold with determination. "I'll deal with them myself."

"You've got more guts that I have, Robert," the younger officer told his friend admiringly. "There's no way I'd go up against a bunch of women in a tank." He then lowered his voice to a whispered hiss. "No way," he repeated. "They'd run me over or blast me before I could say forty-two-"

"Sssh!" the General cautioned, looking over his shoulder before he turned back to his aide. "Now here's what we'll do..." The rest of the conversation was lost as Quark, now satisfied, quietly closed the door before making his way back to the conference table. Rom, still clutching his knees, weakly wobbled back and forth.

"Moogie..." he sobbed uncontrollably.

"Shut up, Rom," he snapped. "If you think I'd give up our mother to a human than you're a lobeless idiot."

His brother looked up, hope shining through his hears. "But you said-"

Quark waved him off with a sharp motion of his hand. "Never mind what I said," he growled. "That idiot out there gave me what we needed. Now all we have to do is get off this rock. Nothing else matters." An evil grin spread over his cragged features. "Or have you forgotten the 17th Rule of Acquisition?"

"A contract is a contract is a contract," Nog immediately prompted...

"...but only between Ferengi," Rom blurted, a happy look in his eyes. "So we're not trading Moogie?"

"Don't tempt me," the older Ferengi hissed.

* * *

 _A/N: In Ferengi society, trading one's mother for latinum (or profit of some kind) is looked upon with admiration (primarily since, like all Ferengi females, she's considered to be useless in society). Contrast that with the ROA that states 'Never make fun of a Ferengi's mother'. You have to wonder..._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	10. Tanks For The Memories

_**Quark vs. Hogan**_  
 _ **by 80sarcades**_

* * *

For years afterward, those members who were there at Roswell on that hot July day in 1947 talked in hushed, almost reverential tones, of the Major General that stood alone in the path of tanks driven by crazy Army WACs. The stories, embellished beyond belief, claimed that the God-on-Earth had powers to command women to do his bidding...and beyond.

Witnesses, watching through binoculars from a distance, claimed that the Godlike General forced the tanks to stop with the power of his mind alone before he banished the nutso broads back to wherever they came from. Some wags even suggested, half in jest, that he formed his own harem afterwards.

He was, they all agreed, the definition of a real man.

The real truth – and one that Hogan would readily admit – was that he had ordered the other male personnel to stand off at a safe distance. He didn't want to take the chance that anyone else would hear the antidote and put two and two together for their own evil ends. Except for a jeep he was alone.

 _Irony_ , he supposed. I've been shot at plenty of times. _My B-17 was shot down by the Krauts. It's a wonder that I wasn't just shot by the Gestapo with all the crazy missions we had!_

 _I survived and came home. And now..._

A cloud of yellow dust, visible in the distance, grew larger as a low _rumble_ permeated the atomsphere. A song, the words unintelligible, cut through the dry desert air to his waiting ears.

 _Here lies Robert Hogan_ , he sourly thought. _Lover. Fighter_.

 _Tank pancake_.

The main tube of a M4 pointed menacingly in his direction as the rumbling grew into a loud throaty roar. The words, clearer now, came into sharp focus:

 _Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord..._

Hogan grimaced, then released a deep breath.

 _Our Father, who art in heaven…_

As the lead tank approached he raised his hand.

The lumbering metal beast, going flat out, suddenly shuddered and skidded to a stop inches from his outstretched digits. At that moment the earsplitting sound of the music ceased as the roar of the engine came to a halt. The driver's hatch, as if on cue, popped open and a helmeted woman in coveralls, her eyes locked on the target, clambered out of the hatch and scrambled for her prize. The tank commander, who would have been first if her clothes had not snagged on an unseen object, finally tore herself free and was only a second or two behind her crewmate.

 _Fat chance, ladies._

General Hogan, his face a mask of stony calm, raised the megaphone to his lips.

* * *

Moments later a company of befuddled women looked around and tried to piece together how they had teleported from the airfield to the middle of the desert. The senior female officer, quicker than most, narrowed her eyes as the general officer 'disarmed' her charges and it wasn't long before the other women picked up on her suspicions. The pointed, if not angry, stares of the fairer sex as they zeroed in on the solitary male target reminded General Hogan of a pack of hungry dogs about to fight over a steak.

 _And if the relief column hadn't shown up when it did,_ he thought gratefully, _they probably would have_ burned _me at the stake!_

The nurses, despite intense grumbling, were returned to Fort Palmer. It took General Hogan far longer to straighten out the mess with the tanks.

 _Paperwork_ , the General groused. _That's what I get for accepting that first star!_

Fortunately there was only one more piece of paper that remained. A week later a secret agreement between the Ferengi Alliance and the United States of America was signed. The terms were simple: the Ferengi would deliver on their promise of weapons and technology. In exchange, Hogan would give up his secret upon delivery.

As part of the treaty - and much to Hogan's intense embarrassment - Quark insisted on executing a separate agreement transferring one Ferengi female named Ishka into his custody. Hogan accepted the document with barely hidden distaste before he tucked it into his jacket.

 _I'm never going to live this down…_

Quark let a genuine smile of victory spread across his face as the humans celebrated their 'victory' with a small party and the requisite alcohol. It was all he could do to keep from laughing as the hosts raised a toast to their alien guests.

 _If you idiots only knew!_ , he silently chortled, lifting his own drink. The aged scotch that burned his throat was surprisingly smooth.

He was even more relieved that the ship - now repaired by Rom with Nog's help - was still able to fly. The only really regrettable part was that Hogan would never know how his guest had gotten the better of him. Oddly, a small shard of shame pricked at his soul as he looked at the Air Force General. Human or not, the man made a formidable adversary. For that alone he deserved respect.

He was just glad there weren't any more cast in the same mold. Beyond Sisko, anyway.

The humans, obliging fools they were, also informed him of the precise date and time of an upcoming nuclear test. Somehow Quark managed to keep his lunch down as his hosts calmly imparted the American gesture of good faith.

 _They're insane!_

Rom's face, oddly, had a different reaction...but only because he realized how valuable the information was. The technical explanation of how the atomic blast, reacting to the kemacite in their cargo hold, would send the ship back to the future flew over his merchant's head.

 _I don't know what's worse,_ he thought miserably as he settled into the captain's chair _. We could be blown up. Even worse, we could be stuck on this stupid rock!_

On the other hand, if Rom was correct - and, though it pained him to admit it, his sibling was occasionally _right_ sometimes - the atomic blast would propel them to a future of unlimited profits. The glittering waterfall of gold in his mind brightened his mood moments before a tidal wave of reality washed the happy feeling away.

 _That is, if my idiot brother is correct!_

"Get us out of here!" he snarled. The humans on the viewscreen, some still cheerfully waving, disappeared from sight as the _thrum_ of antigravity drives pushed the ship out of the hangar. Once clear, the golden-colored Ferengi craft climbed towards the blue sky.

* * *

A sense of profound awe stunned General Hogan into silence as he watched the strange ship float out of the hangar before zooming quickly away. Unlike propeller aircraft - or the newer jets - the alien version made almost no sound beyond a low hum as it disappeared from sight. He shook his head in amazement.

 _Not something you see everyday._

The emotions on the faces of the other officers mirrored his reaction. The only real difference was the small smile that graced his handsome features even as his eyes scanned the now-empty sky.

"I guess that's the last time we'll see them," Captain Kinchloe's hopeful voice rumbled quietly. His superior merely nodded.

"One can hope," Hogan breathed, glancing upward once more before breaking away to walk to the waiting staff car. He cut a sly look in the Captain's direction. "Next time I want more excitement in my life," he deadpanned, halfway serious, "don't forget to shoot me."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Kinch offered, keeping a straight face. "Knowing you, it'll find you anyway."

His friend shot him an ugly look. "Gee, thanks," he groused, though he didn't mean it. "Really cheers me up."

The former radioman was unrepentant. "What are friends for?" The perfect set of grinning pearly whites, framed against the man's black skin, caused Hogan to burst out laughing.

 _And God, after all this I needed that!_

He was still chuckling to himself as he ducked his head to climb into the staff car. Suddenly, a jeep roared up and skidded to a halt. The enlisted messenger paused momentarily before he handed a clipboard to Captain Kinchloe.

"Message for General Hogan, sir," he said crisply.

Kinch signed the message receipt and received a thick envelope in return. His mind barely registered the jeep's departure as he studied the ivory container. The sharp black typewritten letters that made up Hogan's name were the only items marking the otherwise pristine - and decidedly expensive feeling, Kinch judged - surface. A set of embossed letters - D, S and H - were intertwined where the return address would have normally been.

"Anything important?" General Hogan asked as he tried to relax. Unfortunately his body, already anticipating the long plane ride back to the Pentagon, groaned in protest.

His friend raised an eyebrow. "I don't know," he truthfully admitted, a sudden feeling of foreboding curling in his gut. The senior officer, now curious, took the proffered envelope and merely gave the ivory exterior a cursory glance before he ripped the top flap apart with his fingers.

Another groan, this one audible, filled the car as he scanned the blue-lined contents.

"Something wrong?"

After a pause, Hogan handed the bundle of papers to his aide. Kinch's eyes widened as he read the words.

"You're being sued for..." He looked at the odd term again. "...sexual harassment?" The aide's dark features frowned. "What's a class action lawsuit?" he asked.

"I'm definitely going to hell," General Hogan moaned just audibly enough to be heard.

Kinch didn't reply.

* * *

 **Ten hours later**

 **Two minutes to A-bomb time**

If anything, Quark's impatience to return to the future only increased exponentially during the time they waited in orbit for the nuclear bomb test. Despite being rattled, Rom expertly maneuvered the ship to the nuclear testing range with just minutes to spare. Their shields easily defeated the primitive human radar while they waited for their ride home.

"How long till that thing goes off?" Quark spat yet again. Unthinkingly, he used a sharp fingernail to drive another pockmark into one of the arms of his long-suffering captain's chair.

"Two minutes," Rom nervously called out. "The kemacite's ready and I've dropped..." His voice suddenly trailed off. Not that the older brother, ready with his own retort, noticed

"If I cared for an explanation I would have asked for it!" the alien captain snapped. Just then a heavy hand landed squarely on Quark's shoulder. His heart went to warp nine as he belatedly realized the hauntingly familiar grip.

 _It can't be..._

"The only thing you should care about is a holding cell, Quark," Odo's infuriatingly smug nasal voice drawled. "And that's in your future." The Chief of Security for Deep Space Nine leaned over to look into the eyes of his newly acquired - and now frightened - prisoner. "Smuggling Kemacite is a Level Three offense."

"What kemacite?" Quark said, feigning a look of practiced innocence.

"The kemacite in our hold," Rom blurted. "Brother-"

"Oh, SHUT UP!" the Ferengi captain roared, angry with everyone and everything.

"-hang on!" Rom finished.

Quark grabbed onto the sides of his chair while everyone else braced for impact. Just then a bright white light filled the bridge moments before a tremendous shockwave slammed into the rear of the ship. A high-pitched wordless scream tore itself from his throat even as his vision faded to black...

...and slowly returned as the very air seemed to vibrate around him before falling still.

For a moment Quark dumbly stared at the black viewscreen before the dark glass flickered to life again.

 _Is that Earth?_ He stared at the blue-green world that hung beneath the ship. _It must be._

 _But which Earth is it?_

"I'm getting a subspace signal!" Rom cried out, his voice shattering the remaining fog in Quark's brain. Suddenly, a new sound pulsed into life around them.

"-to unidentified ship, this is Earth Orbital Control," a calm male voice announced. "Do you require assistance?" The message repeated itself once more as the Ferengi's shoulders sagged in relief.

 _I never thought I'd be happy to see the Federation!_

Another bolt - this one far more pleasant - pushed the grateful thought aside.

 _Forget the moon, Quark decided dreamily. I'll buy a planet. I'll be richer than any Ferengi alive!_

 _And at the center of it all I'll be surrounded by women..._

* * *

 _A/N: Sometimes, dreams can turn into nightmares..._

 _DSC - Dewey, Screwem and Howe - and variations thereof were a running gag on The Three Stooges and other comedy shorts._

 _In the original episode Odo, along with two humans, helped the Ferengi trio to escape. I deliberately left him out until now but he still has his own part to play..._


	11. Gotcha!

_**Hogan vs. Quark**_  
 _ **by 80sarcades**_

* * *

 **Deep Space Nine  
** **One week later**

"...and you still can't charge me with anything, Odo!" Quark argued in a never ceasing argument as the pair stepped off the transport. "I'm merely an innocent businessman!" He tried, and failed, to slip from the shapeshifter's grip and growled in frustration at yet another failure. "Besides you have no proof!" He added indignantly. "All of that so-called kemacite is gone! Along with my ship," the Ferengi bartender bitterly added, this time truthfully sincere.

The constable _harumphed_ , unimpressed. "We'll let the arbiter decide your guilt, Quark," he growled as he walked his charge onto Deep Space Nine. "In the meantime, you can enjoy the comforts of a holding cell."

"Excuse me," a new voice called out. The lawman and his prisoner, both annoyed at being interrupted, turned to see a human male wearing a black nondescript uniform. A silvery tube, carried in the his right hand, proved to be more interesting than the man himself.

"That looks a little big to be a neuralyzer, whoever you are," Odo idly commented. Quark and the stranger gave him a blank look.

"Sorry," he said unapologetically. "Doctor Bashir was kind enough to show me a human movie...but never mind. Who are you?"

The figure bowed slightly. "Geoffrey Borren. Federation Archive Service," he replied in a flat, almost emotionless tone. "You must be Constable Odo." He flicked his eyes to the left without moving his head. "Would I be correct in assuming your name is Quark?"

"We are," the security officer's displeased voice snapped to both statements. "What is this about?"

"I have a message for you."

Odo stiffened as Geoffrey used his fingers to undo a catch on one end of the tube. A small puff of white vapor, vaporizing in the station's air, slowly escaped from the newly opened seam. The pair watched in fascination as the lid swiveled outward on hidden hinges before locking into place with a soft _click._ The representative then used his slender fingers to retrieve two off-white objects from the depths of the tube before the cap was rotated back into place. The thin man then carefully, if not reverentially, handed an envelope apiece to the shapeshifter and the merchant with a solemn air of formality.

Paper envelopes.

The Ferengi's interest suddenly peaked at the interesting twist. Quark couldn't remember the last time anyone actually used _paper_ outside of the Rules of Acquisition.

"Sign here," the man brusquely ordered before he held out a PADD. Quark and Odo casually thumbed the reader before the device disappeared into a small bag on the stranger's shoulder.

"Thank you," Geoffrey said stiffly, his voice as emotionless as a desert. "Have a good day." He turned to leave before the shapeshifter's voice stopped him.

"Just a minute," Odo inquired. He held up his envelope. "What, exactly, are these?"

"That's not my place to know," the messenger smoothly replied. "I was merely instructed to deliver these messages after Stardate 51954.6." The man gave the duo a small smile of satisfaction. "Obviously, I have done so."

"And just who was the sender?" the security chief pressed though the answer was readily apparent. The same thought suddenly occurred to Quark as well. He warily eyed his envelope - marked with his name in the human tongue, of all things! - with an air of foreboding.

Geoffrey gave his interrogator an indifferent look before he let a resigned breath escape his lips. "I do not concern myself with the origin of the messages," he declared haughtily. "Merely to their successful delivery." He paused. "Will there be anything else?"

Odo merely shook his head.

"Then I bid you good day." With that crisp farewell he departed leaving behind two very confused beings. The security chief merely rolled his eyes before he looked at the envelope with unabashed curiosity.

"I'd rather not know, if it's all the same to you," Quark mumbled, eyeing the message with distaste. "Besides, he's dead anyway," he pointed out. "What difference does it make?"

The taller man looked at him in annoyance. "And here I had forgotten how the Ferengi treat their dead," he said acidly.

"At least we value their remains and treat them with dignity," the bartender retorted.

"Only until the highest bidder...or bidders, rather...take possession," Odo said, his ire rising by the moment. Quark merely shrugged.

"Nothing like going out on the top...bid," he said innocently, needling the shapeshifter once more.

Odo merely grunted before he reformed his index finger into a slim knife that barely made a whisper as it sliced through the top flap of his envelope. He withdrew a thin letter from within and read the contents before a deep chuckle tore itself from his throat.

And then, much to Quark's horror, the constable started to _laugh_.

"What's so funny?" the alien demanded, a sinking feeling permeating his stomach as he looked at his longtime nemesis. Odo gave him a bemused stare.

"Why don't you open your envelope?" he teased, an air of humor curling on his thin lips. The smug look infuriated the bar owner though he tried his best not to show it. Angrily, he ripped the container open and removed the contents in one swift motion. To his surprise a picture slipped from the closed letter and fell onto the floor. Quark picked it up-

...and froze in disbelief. The old-style paper photo showed a pile of Kemacite in all its colorized glory sitting in the cargo area of a Ferengi ship.

His ship. He looked up just in time to see a copy of the same damnable photo clutched in the security officer's fingers.

"You know, I rather think I like General Hogan," Odo deadpanned, satisfaction permeating his soft tones. "He was pretty interesting, for a human. Not to mention smart if he figured out how to deliver these. How...?" He pondered the question silently before he grinned with the answer.

 _The PADD, he realized. He must have seen the stardate somehow. And since I told him I was from Deep Space Nine..._

"An interesting human," Odo repeated, unable to keep the humor - much less sincere admiration - out of his voice. The bartender rounded on him.

"And how would you know?" Quark demanded, indignation clouding his features. "You..." Just then, a bolt of belated realization finally struck home. "You knew!" he growled accusingly, pointing at the letter in the changeling's hand. "You were talking to Hogan the entire time!"

The security chief merely harrumphed in response. "Hardly," he replied, though there was something behind the misshapen features Quark couldn't immediately identify. "Although I may have mentioned a few tidbits here or there."

"And I bet you enjoyed that!" the Ferengi yelled, rising to the moment. "You probably revealed yourself right after we arrived!"

"I had better things to do than talk to strange humans…at least at first!" Odo flared, though he kept his temper in check. "Namely, I was trying to figure out how to help you escape!"

"And then you went to Hogan!" the bartender finished. "Some help you were." Strangely, the shapeshifter seemed withdrawn for some reason. Quark, sensing victory, went in for the kill.

"Admit it, Odo," he pressed in a low voice. "You probably waited until he was alone. Then you…" The hint of uncharacteristic embarrassment that showed on the other being's face stopped him in his tracks.

"Not...exactly..." his nemesis murmured, suddenly reluctant to speak.

"And what does that mean?" the other being asked, now curious.

"If you must know..." A pained grimace of embarrassment settled briefly over Odo's features before reasserting their normally placid form. "...he caught me."

* * *

A/N:


	12. Be Careful What You (Lust) For

_**Hogan vs. Quark**_  
 _ **by 80sarcades**_

* * *

It was fortunate, Odo decided, that changelings had better hearing than most humanoids. He had just enough time to assume a benign - yet not terribly convenient - form before General Hogan entered the bridge area of the ship once more.

Despite the circumstances the constable had to admit that General Hogan was, for lack of a better word, impressive. The Ferengi, despite their odious reputation, were quite skilled in negotiating complex deals. Even so, watching the utter desperation on Quark's face as he tried to consummate this particular bargain with General Hogan had proved to be rather amusing.

All of that was, as the humans liked to say, 'before the other shoe dropped.'

The human had quickly seen through Quark's facade. Even more, he was planning on turning the tables against the conniving bartender. Nog's missing dataPADD had only confirmed the man's suspicions. Fortunately, he had been able to retrieve the device once Hogan had left it in a supposedly 'secure' location.

Despite the abhorrent 'payment' General Hogan offered – and one, the security chief highly suspected, would never be honored - Odo was content to let the situation resolve itself. At least for now. If nothing else the human was sharp. He could have almost sworn the man had sensed his presence on the bridge earlier.

 _I'll have to research his name once we return to DS9,_ Odo mused, his investigative curiosity aroused. _In a way, he reminds of a Garak with morals._

He watched Hogan pace around the small bridge while seemingly lost in thought. As he rounded the far pedestal he suddenly kneeled down. Presumably to 'tie a shoelace', Odo decided. He supposed footwear, like humanity, needed time to evolve.

What he didn't expect was to see the General rise up, Ferengi weapon in hand, before pointing the emitter in his direction.

Specifically, straight at Odo's hidden form.

A small part of the shocked changeling's mind belatedly remembered that the Ferengi, being somewhat overly paranoid about their ship's vault, had small storage compartments built into the control pedestals of their ships. The medical device and phaser they had used for the demonstration earlier had come from one of those compartments.

Something Hogan, given the earlier test, had obviously remembered. He wasn't sure if the human actually knew _how_ to use the weapon but he wasn't particularly eager to find out. Reluctantly, he shifted into his humanoid form. To his credit the human's face only showed a trace of bare shock at seeing the inanimate console face reform into a living being.

"How did you know?" Odo pointedly asked, breaking the deathly silence. General Hogan shrugged, then lowered his weapon slightly.

"I didn't," he lamely replied, stunned by what he had just witnessed. "I just..." After a moment, he shrugged. "I used to be a POW...a prisoner of war," he quietly explained to the alien's inquiring look. "There's just some feelings you don't lose." Hogan then cocked his head inquiringly. "You were here earlier," he challenged.

The shapeshifter nodded once, his earlier suspicion confirmed. "Yes," he said before his eyes glanced upward. "One of the ceiling decorations."

"Nice," the human nodded admiringly. "Must come in handy." Hogan pursed his lips before he turned to business. "I assume you're acquainted with Quark?"

"Unfortunately, you're correct," the alien sighed before he introduced himself. "My name is Odo," he explained. "Head of security for Deep Space Nine. You might think of me as a police officer on a space station...so to speak."

Hogan nodded. "And I take it my guest isn't what he says he is on this...space station?"

"Only when it comes to drinks," the alien said. "He runs the bar."

"Figures." The General laid the weapon on the top of the console and stepped back. He cocked his head slightly, eyeing the otherworldly being, before he turned to business. "So, two things," he began. "The first is that we have to get you back to wherever you came from. I know you're from the future."

The constable nodded in acknowledgment. "That might prove to be difficult," he truthfully admitted. "Quark was on his way to Earth to deliver Rom to Starfleet Academy." He paused upon seeing the American's expression.

"The kid is a _cadet_?" Hogan said incredulously, the title of the book finally making sense. "I don't know what 'Starfleet' is but they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel."

A deep harumph emanated from Odo's throat. "You might be surprised," he dryly commented. "For the most part, Starfleet does have some very talented individuals. Then again, given Nog's history, I wonder if the Federation knows what it's in for."

The officer shrugged but didn't comment further. _Someone must have thought the kid had some potential,_ he reluctantly allowed, thinking of his own West Point days. More than a few of his own classmates had their own quirks before they wised up.

 _Maybe he'll make a good officer._ _At least it's not my problem._

"The ship was sabotaged," Odo continued bluntly, returning to the topic at hand. "It seems that one of Quark's cousins gave him the ship as a way to repay his debt and get rid of Quark. Permanently."

A faint grin tugged at the general's lips as he glanced around the bridge. "Must've been one heck of a monkey wrench to get you here," he observed. The changeling didn't know what, exactly, a 'monkey wrench' was but he understood the inference.

"True," he acknowledged. "Fortunately, I was able to control the crash into what I thought was an unpopulated area. Unfortunately, the sensors were damaged and I didn't detect your Army unit until just before we crashed. After that...". He spread his hands helplessly.

"Yeah," General Hogan said sympathetically, meaning it. "Been there. Done that." He paused. "Is there anything we can do to help?" the officer asked, his tone sincere. "Or are you stuck here for good?"

The shapeshifter merely cocked his head as if in thought. "I'm sure, given time, Rom could send us back to the future," he conceded, though his voice seemed doubtful. "He's a bit odd for a Ferengi but he does have a mind for that sort of thing."

The American smiled. "Strangely enough, I know what you mean," he said quietly. Odo noticed an almost indefinable - he would have said sad - gleam as he looked into the human's brown eyes.

"My main goal is to get Quark away from Earth before he can cause any more damage to the timeline." The sound of his sigh echoed around the bridge. "I suppose, after that, I will 'play it by ear' as you humans say.

For a moment, Hogan felt a wave of sadness wash through his soul as he thought about the alien's last words. To be trapped in time with nowhere to go…

It was an unpleasant thought.

If his plan worked - and that was a big if - Odo and the Ferengi might have a chance to return to the future. The 'if' portion depended on more variables than the General wanted to count. In all honesty he had no idea if they could go back to the future...or even how they would do do.

 _But I have a hunch they'll make it back._

Without thinking, he withdrew an object from his pocket and tossed it toward the stranger. Odo deftly caught the flying item with his right hand and curiously studied the worn figures etched into the flat metal disc.

"My lucky half dollar," the senior officer explained. "Carried it during the war." He cocked his head and smiled. "I figure if it was lucky enough to get me home it might do the same for you."

The changeling, at a loss for words, let a small smile slip onto his stern face. "Thank you," he said simply.

"No problem," The General then cocked his head as another thought occurred to him. "I take it you and Quark have a personal history?" he innocently inquired.

An almost predatory grin tugged at Odo's stern features as he caught Hogan's meaning.

"What would you like to know?"

* * *

"How could you tell him about me?!" The Ferengi nearly shrieked. "After all, I thought we were friends!"

"Whatever gave you that idea, Quark?" the head of security retorted. "However, I'm sure you'll be comforted to know that you'll make plenty of friends where you're going." He started to drag Quark away to the security office and the holding cell but his charge wrenched free from his grasp.

"Wait!" he cried out. "I still have one card left!" His frantic eyes quickly searched the room before finding a female target. By coincidence - or just plain unlucky fate - that person happened to be Major Kira Nerys, DS9's second-in-command. "Major," he said breathlessly, almost jumping up and down in excitement. "Ask me what the ultimate answer is to life, the universe and everything!"

Kira, true to form, was not amused.

"Is this some kind of joke, Quark?" the Bajoran officer growled, leaning menacingly forward to meet the Ferengi's suddenly terrified face. "Because if it is-"

"You'd better humor him, Major," Odo's dry voice, tinged with amusement, interrupted. "He won't have many laughs where he's going."

Kira gritted her teeth, then relented. "All right, Quark," she hissed. "What is the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything?"

"Forty-two!" Quark announced triumphantly. He then leaned forward and puckered his lips...

...only to be rocked backward on his heels as a roundhouse slap painfully flew across his expectant face. The Ferengi opened his eyes in stunned surprise just in time to see the Bajoran's famed glare of death.

"You asked me," Kira began, enunciating each word loudly and clearly for everyone to hear, "to ask you the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything..."

"Uh..." Quark's suddenly dry voice refused to respond.

"...AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO TELL ME THE ANSWER IS FORTY-TWO?!" she finished, shouting to one and all.

At that, every woman within earshot on the promenade - human and alien - stood up.

"Uh, oh..." the barkeeper muttered nervously as numerous female eyes targeted him with laser precision. Kira, for her part, had the look of an angry Klingon about to go on a planetary killing spree. The expressions on the faces of the other women were not too far behind.

"Brother..." said Rom.

"Yeah?" Quark muttered, warily backing up in self-preservation.

"You'd better run," his brother finished.

At that sound advice the bar owner turned tail and began running like hell.

"GET HIM!" Kira roared. As one, the crowd of women began to surge after the retreating Ferengi.

"Ladies!" Odo began, holding up his hands. "Please..." He got no further than that before the female wave knocked him to the deck. The male personnel, deciding discretion was the safer part of valor, ducked into various shops and hiding places in a mostly successful effort to avoid the oncoming juggernaut.

Moments later, when the crowd cleared, a small pool of pockmarked golden goo wearing a misshapen security uniform lay motionless in the middle of the deserted Promenade. Suddenly a hand, along with a set of lips, pushed themselves upward from the mostly limp puddle and paused momentarily before the index finger swiveled in the direction of the mob.

"He went that-a-way," Odo's disembodied voice announced.

* * *

Meanwhile, Quark ran for his very life. Granted, it had always been a dream of his to be pursued by women, but this...

 _This is insane!_

He was barely aware of the high pitched, and decidedly girlish, _scream_ that emanated from his throat as he successfully evaded another female's attempt to bring him down. A burst of speed, powered by fear, was the only thing that saved him as he rounded yet another corner.

 _If I can just get to the bar..._ he desperately, if not irrationally, thought. Bitterly, he cursed not carrying any of the numerous station security overrides he had illegally obtained over the years.

Quark then yelled in fright as an orange phaser blast singed the shoulder of his tailored vest. He twisted his head just enough to see Major Kira, weapon in hand, carefully lining up for another shot.

 _Odo, where are you when I need you?_

A group of Starfleet officers, their faces registering surprise, scrambled out of the way as the Ferengi barreled around yet another corner. Dimly, he heard the distinctive sound of a phased beam as it sliced through the air where he had just been.

 _You missed!_ he thought triumphantly.

The rest of the female mob was temporarily stymied when he ducked into a maintenance hatchway before keying the lock switch. Quark, in a surprising show of strength, picked up the heavy tool case next to the door and smashed it down on the lock, destroying it. For a brief moment the Ferengi's heaving lungs paused to recover before he laid eyes on the sparking remains with a sense of satisfaction.

Granted, he might have only a minute before one of the creative females bypassed the temporary barrier.

 _But as long as I can get to the bar, who cares?_ he thought with a plan in mind. _From there, I'll grab one of the overrides to transport to a cargo ship. Better yet, a Runabout!_ His breathing slowed as the ad hoc plan came into focus.

I _'ll have to disable the tractor beam, he reasoned. They'll probably send one or two of their own runabouts to track me down but with a little bit of luck I'll be able to lock their mooring clamps for a few minutes. If I'm even luckier there won't be a Federation Starship around._

 _Once I'm out of the system I'll head for Orion. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to sell the ship and pocket some latinum before heading to Ferenginar..._

He was already a third of the way through the first crawlspace before his disjointed mind realized something odd:

Why hadn't the Major – or anyone else, for that matter – used a transporter to beam him out of the maintenance shafts?

Odo had told him earlier that Captain Sisko was on Bajor. This left the Bajoran second-in-command…in command. There was something else…something about how she had aimed her phaser at him earlier...

…and then, in a moment of stunned clarity, he finally realized the brutal truth.

The former resistance fighter had _deliberately_ missed. Even now, she was toying with him much as an animal did with its prey.

And when he finally gave out...

That last epiphany was almost enough to send him over the edge...if he wasn't totally focused on trying to survive.

"I gave her the answer!" he plaintively wailed as the distinct sounds of scraping – namely, boots against solid metal – echoed down the long shaft. It was enough to propel him to a breathless crawling lightspeed. "I gave it! It should have worked!" he yelled in frustration even as he mentally cursed the long dead General. "What went wrong?"

Meanwhile, Quark's unread letter - discarded in the hasty flight of terror - lay on the floor of the empty Promenade. Had anyone chanced to open the paper fold they would have seen a simple message written in neat Palmer script:

 _I've got your number._

 _-R. Hogan_

 _[fin/ende]_


End file.
